miih 


,•1^  . 


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"THEIR  MAJESTIES'  SERVANTS." 

ANNALS 

OP 

THE  ENGLISH  STAGE, 


THOMAS  BETTERTON  TO  EDMUND  KEAN. 
By  Dr.^DORAN,  F.S.A., 

AUTBOB  OF   "  TABLE  TEAITS,"  "  LIVJES  OF  THE  QPEEN8  OF  EN0L4ND  OF  THE  HOUSE  OF 
HANOVEE,"  ETC..  ETC. 


A  Memoir  op  Dr.  Doran,  and  an  Introduction  and  Conclusion, 
By  R.  H    STODDARD. 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 
VOL.  I. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
DAVID  McKAY,   PUBLISHER, 

23  South  Ninth  Street. 
1890. 


TO 


€lin)aib  ill.  Ularb,  $1.^., 


IN   MEMORY  OP  PLEASANT   OLD   CONVERSE  TOGETHER, 


ON   PLAYS,   PLAYERS,   AND   PLAY-GOING  TIMES. 


THIS  CONTRIBUTION   TOWARDS  A 


COMPLETE  HISTORY  OF  THE  ENGLISH  STAGE 


IS  INSCRIBED, 


^ark  of  l^omaigt  to  ti)E  .ilrtist  anU  Scstttm  for  tjit  f  runtJ, 


WITH   THE   BEST   WISHES  OF 


THE  AUTHOR. 


li 


BILL  OF  THE  PLAY." 


VOL.    I. 

CHAP.  PACK 

I. — Prologue 9 

II.— The  Decline  and  FaU  of  the  Players                ...  32 

III. — The  "Boy  Actresses,"  and  the  "Young  Ladies"        .        .  47 

IV". — The  Gentlemen  of  the  King's  Company          ...  70 

"^ — Thomas  Botterton 79 

VI.— "Exeunt,"  and  "Enter" 36 

VII.— Elizabeth  Barry 104 

VIII. — "Their  first  appearance  on  this  stage"  ....  113 

IX. — The  Dramatic  Poets. — Noble,  gentle,  and  humble  Authors  .  127 

X. — Professional  Authors 147 

XI. — The  Dramatic  Authoresses 163 

XII. — The  Audiences  of  the  Seventeenth  Century  .        .        .  169 

XIIL— A  Seven  Years' Rivalry 188 

XIV. — The  United  and  the  Disunited  Companies      .        .        .  211 

XV. — Union,  Strength,  Prosperity 216 

XVI. — Competition,  and  what  came  of  it 230 

XVII. — The  Progress  of  James  Quin,  and  Dechne  of  Barton  Booth  24  2 

XVIII.— Barton  Booth 265 

XIX.— Mrs.  Oldfield .288 

XX.— From  the  Death  of  Anne  Oldfield  to  that  of  Wilks          .  301 

XXL— Robert  WUks 308 

XXIL— Enter,  Garrick 319 

XXIIL — Garrick,  Quin,  Mrs.  Porter 333 

XXIV. — Rivalry;  and  Enter,  Spranger  Barry     .         ,         ,        .  343 

XX Y.— The  old  Dublin  Theatre 351 

XXVI. — Garrick  and  Quin ;  Garrick  and  Barry  ....  357 

XXVIL— The  Audiences  of  1700-1750 369 

XXVIIL— Exit,  James  Quin 391 

XXI.X.— England  and  Scotland 405 


MEMOIR. 


It  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  many  to  write  books  ;  but  it  has 
not  fallen  to  the  lot  of  many  to  write  their  lives,  or,  writing 
them,  to  have  them  read.     What  makes  an  author  a  fit  sub- 
ject for  biography,  has  seldom  been  determined,  either  by 
himself  or  by  his  own  generation.     He  may  consider  him- 
self worthy  of  biographic  honors,  and  they  may  not ;  or 
vice  versa.      What  Shakespeare  thought  of  his  work,  we 
have  no  means  of  knoAving,  other  than  such  as  we  fancy  we 
detect  in  his  Sonnets  (which  may,  or  may  not,  be  autobio- 
graphic) ;  but  what  hundreds  of  scribblers  have  thought  of 
their  work,  we  cannot  well  help  knowing,  even  if  we  would, 
so  voluminous  are  the  records  which  they  have  left  behind 
them.     There  was  Percival  Stockdale,   for  example  ;  who 
was  ever  more  convinced  of  his  greatness  than  he  ?  He  lived 
to  be  seventy-five  years  old,   and  to  publish  upwards  of 
twenty  different  works  ; — among  which  was  a  Life  of  Wal- 
ler, whom  he  edited  :  a  tragedy,  and  three  volumes  of  poems  : 
four  volumes  of  sermons  :  a  treatise  on  Education  :  an  En- 
quiry into  the  Laws  of  Poetr}",  with  a  Defence  of  Pope  :  two 
volumes  of  Lectures  on  the  Truly  Eminent  English  Poets  : 
and  Memoirs  of  his  Life  and  Writings,  which  last,  he  knew, 
would  "  live  and  escape  the  havoc  that  has  been  made  of  my 
literary  fame  ! "     Has  it  done  so  ?    Did  you  ever  hear  of 
the  great   Stockdale— cZar^^w  et   venerahile   nomen  ?    If  I 
have  rescued  him  for  a  moment  from  the   wallet  which 
Time  bears  upon  his  back,  and  in  which  he  drops  alms  for 
Oblivion,  it  is  because  he  is  a  representative  of  a  class  who 

vii 


Vlll  MEMOIR. 

insist  upon  being  considered  what  they  are  not — authors. 
Others  occur  to  me  ;  but  surely  one, — such  an  one  as  Perci- 
val  Stockdale, — is  enough 

"  To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale." 

They  are  not  dead,  for  nothing  can  be  said  to  have  died, 
that  has  not  lived. 

"  Keep  them.  Oblivion,  they  are  thine." 

The  writers  who  are  most  readily  forgotten  are  frequently 
those  who  have  most  entertained  us, — not  through  their 
creations,  for  they  are  in  no  sense  creators;  but  through 
the  stores  of  knowledge  which  they  have  gathered  for  us. 
They  possess  no  interest  outside  of  their  work,  which  we 
would  as  soon  have  furnished  by  machines  as  by  men,  if  only 
machines  could  furnish  it,  as  perhaps  they  may  some  day. 
Among  the  dubious  definitions  in  Johnson's  Dictionary, 
there  is  one  which  remains  unchanged.  It  is  that  of  the 
word  Lexicogeapher,  whom  we  are  still  instructed  to  be- 
lieve "a  harmless  drudge."  This  definition,  liberally  inter- 
preted, indicates  the  kind  of  writer  whom  I  have  in  mind, 
and  who  is  more  accurately  described  by  Johnson's  defini- 
tion of  the  word  Compiler:  "A  collector.  One  who 
frames  a  composition  from  various  authors."  Whether  a 
compiler  is  an  author,  in  the  strict  sense,  may  be  questioned. 
That  he  may  be,  and  often  is,  an  author,  in  an  enjoyable 
sense,  is  certain.  If  to  frame  a  composition  from  various 
authors  is  to  be  a  compiler,  as  Johnson  declared,  Montaigne 
was  one,  and  Burton  was  another.  That  they  were  think- 
ers, as  well  as  compilers,  does  not  change  the  character  of 
their  work,  which  is  the  most  learned  and  most  suggestive 
of  the  kind  that  we  have.  The  elder  Disraeli  was  also  a 
compiler  ;  but  he  cannot  be  called  learned,  in  spite  of  his 
multifarious  reading,  nor  at  all  satisfactory  except  to  super- 


MEMOIR.  ix 

ficial  inquirers.  What  he  was,  wlien  critically  examined, 
and  where  many  of  his  pretended  "  discoveries"  were  derived, 
Bolton  Corney  has  shown.  Quite  as  entertaining  as  Disraeli, 
and  much  more  scholarly,  was  the  late  Dr.  John  Doran,  Ph.D. 
F.S.A.,  who  ranks  high  among  English  collectors  of  ana, 
and  who,  if  he  had  been  earlier  in  the  field,  might  have  been 
a  dangerous  rival  to  the  author  of  "  The  Curiosities  of  Litera- 
ture." He  has  written  largely  of  many  things  and  many 
men,  and  with  an  intelligence  which  makes  us  regret  that 
he  contented  himself  with  reproducing  the  work  of  others, 
when  he  might  have  i^roduced  better  work  of  his  own.  He 
seems  not  to  have  thought  of  himself,  but  of  his  literary 
tasks,  and,  provided  that  these  were  faithfully  performed, 
to  have  been  content  with  his  lot,  from  which  the  calcula- 
tions of  vainer  and  more  ambitious  men  were  absent.  Few 
men  of  letters  have  written  so  well  and  so  voluminously 
as  Dr.  Doran,  without  leaving  more  memorials  of  their 
lives  than  he.  They  are  short  and  simjile,  like  the  annals 
of  the  poor  ;  but  they  are  honorable  to  him  and  to  Litera- 
ture. 

John  Doran  was  born  in  London  in  1807.  If  he  could 
not  substantiate  the  common  claim  of  his  countrymen  to  be 
descended  from  Irish  kings,  he  was  a  member  of  an  old 
Irish  family  of  Drogheda,  to  whose  splendor  in  former  times 
he  used  to  refer,  b}^  declaring,  with  a  humorous  assumption 
of  historic  seriousness,  that  they  were  the  first  people  in 
their  particular  part  of  the  country  to  wear  blue  breeches  ! 
Of  his  early  life  we  are  only  told  that  he  accompanied  his 
father  to  Paris,  where  he  completed  his  education,  and  that 
he  resided  several  years  in  France  and  Germany,  where  the 
knowledge  that  he  obtained  was  more  useful,  and  of  greater 
rarity  then  than  it  is  to-day.  A  clever  lad,  with  an  attrac- 
tion toward  Literature,  he  wrote,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  a 
melodrama  entitled  "The  Wandering  Jew,"  which  was 
played  at  Surrey  Theatre  for  the  benefit  of  Thomas  Blan- 


X  MEMOIR. 

chard ;  and  he  was  subsequently  employed  on  the  staff  of 
the  Literary  Chronicle,  until  it  passed  into  the  hands  of 
John  Stirling  and  his  friends.  The  Fourth  Estate  was 
liberally  represented  at  that  time  by  young  Doran's  vivacious 
and  versatile  countrymen, — and  by  none  more  brilliantly 
than  William  Maginn,  who  was  alike  remarkable  for  his 
talents  and  for  his  imprudence.  He  was,  as  we  all  remem- 
ber, the  original  of  Captain  Shandon  in  "  Pendennis,"  and 
from  all  that  I  have  read  about  him,  I  cannot  think  his  por- 
trait is  overdrawn.  Very  different  from  this  unfortunate, 
but  happy-go-lucky  man  of  genius,  was  John  Doran,  who 
possessed  the  gayety  of  the  Celt  without  his  recklessness  ;  who 
was  scrupulously  exact  in  the  performance  of  his  professional 
duties  ;  and  whose  pen, — at  least,  in  his  early  manhood, — ■ 
was  not  his  sole  means  of  subsistence.  If  it  was  ever  his 
crutch,  it  was  then  only  his  staff. 

Doran's  first  serious  essay  in  Literature  was  the  *' History 
and  Antiquities  of  the  Town  and  Borough  of  Eeading,  in 
Berkshire"  (1835),  an  elaborate  work,  which  has  long  since 
been  forgotten  by  all  save  the  antiquarian  student,  but 
which  must  have  had  considerable  merit  of  a  special  sort, 
since  it  obtained  for  him  the  degree  of  M.A.,  and,  after- 
ward, of  LL.D.,  from  the  University  of  Marburg.  He 
was,  for  eleven  years,  the  editor  of  a  London  weekly  news- 
paper, which  deeply  concerned  itself  with  religious  politics 
(whatever  that  may  be),  during  which  time  he  edited  an 
edition  of  Anthon's  Xenophon's  Anabasis.  Six  or  seven 
years  later  he  became  one  of  the  editors  of  the  Athenceum, 
and  burgeoned  out  from  a  journalist  into  an  author.  He 
edited  and  finished  *'  Filia  Dolorosa  "  (1853),  a  Memoir  of 
Marie  Therese,  Duchess  d'Angouleme,  which  had  been  be- 
gun by  Mrs.  Isbella  Eomer,  an  English  woman  of  letters, 
who  is  only  remembered  by  the  titles  of  four  or  five  works  of 
travels  ;  and  he  wrote  a  Life  of  Dr.  Young  for  Tegg's  edition 
of  that  poet. 


MEMOIR.  XI 

The  list  of  Dr.  Doran's  writings  (so  far  as  I  have  been 
able  to  complete  it)  is  as  follows  : — "  Table  Traits,  and 
Something  on  Them  "  (1854) ;  "Habits  and  Men  "  (1854)  ; 
''Queens  of  the  House  of  Hanover"  (1855);  "Knights 
and  their  Days  "  (1856)  ;  "  Monarchs  Retired  from  Busi- 
ness" (1857)  ;  "History  of  Court  Fools"  (1858)  ;  "New 
Pictures  and  Old  Panels  "  (1859) ;  "  Princes  of  the  House 
of  Wales"  (1859)  ;  "Memoirs  of  Queen  Adelaide"  (1861)  ; 
"His  Majesty's  Servants"  (1863);  "Saints  and  Sinners" 
(1868);  "A  Lady  of  the  Last  Century"  (1873);  "Mann 
and  Manners "  (1876),  and  "  London  in  Jacobite  Times  " 
(1877).  Among  the  works  which  he  edited  may  be  men- 
tioned a  "  Selection  of  Ballads  Contributed  to  Bentley's  Mis- 
cellany "  (1859) ;  and  an  English  reprint  of  a  volume  of 
essays  by  the  late  H.  T.  Tuckerman,  entitled  "  The  Col- 
lector "  (1868). 

Dr.  Doran's  latest  literary  employment  was  the  manage- 
ment of  Notes  and  Queries  ;  the  plan  of  which  was  in  the 
line  of  the  studies  which  he  had  pursued  for  years,  and 
which  he  brought  to  bear  upon  its  pages  with  remarkable 
success.  His  last  contributions  to  Literature  were  papers 
on  "  Dwarfs,"  in  the  new  edition  of  the  Encyclopedia  Bri- 
tannica ;  a  sketch  on  "Shakespeare  in  France"  in  the 
Nineteenth  Century  (January,  1878)  ;  and  a  letter  to  the 
editor  of  the  Athenwum,  upon  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of 
the  birth  of  that  journal.  He  died  at  33  Lansdowne  Eoad, 
'  Netting  Hill,  on  the  25th  of  January,  1878,  after  a  brief 
illness  with  bronchitis,  and  all  that  was  mortal  of  him  was 
buried  four  days  later  at  Kensal  Green.  He  was  sincerely 
mourned  by  his  friends.  "It  is  not  often,"  said  the  Athe- 
ncBum,  "that  death,  by  a  single  blow,  spreads  such  wide 
sorrow  amongst  literary  workers.  For  Doran  was  at  home 
in  most  of  our  literary  coteries,  and  whilst  no  one  encoun- 
tered him  in  society  •without  being  charmed  by  his  pleasant 
address  and  animated  conversation,  it  was  impossible  for 


Xll  MEMOIR. 

any  one  to  make  the  first  approaches  toward  intimacy  with 
him,  and  not  to  entertain  a  cordial  liking  for  one  so  over- 
flowing with  manly  kindliness  and  honest  sympathy.  The 
regard  with  which  he  inspired  his  habitual  associates  was  a 
sentiment  of  the  closest  attachment."  He  was  one  of  the 
few  men  whose  age  might  well  be  doubted.  **  Though  he 
never  affected  to  be  younger  than  his  years,  Doran  did  not 
to  the  last  strike  casual  observers,  or  even  his  ordinary  ac- 
quaintance, as  a  veteran  whose  career  had  begun  in  the  first 
decade  of  the  present  century.  The  whiteness  of  his  hair 
w^ould,  indeed,  have  been  appropriate  to  an  octogenarian. 
But  to  the  last  his  countenance,  voice,  and  manner  were 
those  of  a  man  in  the  middle  stage  of  middle  age.  His 
smile  had  the  freshness  of  a  yet  earlier  period,  and  his  whole 
bearing,  as  he  delivered  anecdote  after  anecdote  to  a  group 
of  listeners  at  a  dinner- table,  or  in  the  corner  of  a  crowded 
drawing-room,  was  so  light  and  easy  in  its  gayety,  that  no 
stranger,  seeing  him  for  the  first  time  in  any  of  the  earlier 
months  of  last  season,  imagined  how  nearly  he  had  ap- 
proached the  end  of  his  seventieth  year.  On  the  other 
hand,  those  intimate  friends  to  whom  he  used  to  pour  forth 
his  personal  reminiscences  of  John  Kemble  and  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons  were  induced  by  the  remoteness  of  the  recollections  to 
magnify  his  age  in  an  amusing  manner." 

Dr.  Doran's  place  in  Literature  will  be  among  those  who 
have  entertained  as  well  as  instinicted  their  readers,  for  his 
works  afford  just  the  intellectual  diversion  that  is  most  ac- 
ceptable to  men  of  cultivated  taste  and  scholarly  attainments 
in  their  hours  of  idleness.  **Even  the  slightest  of  -..nem 
may  be  described  as  works  in  which  a  writer,  having  an  un- 
usually large  acquaintance  with  curious  and  too  generally 
neglected  literature,  has  reproduced  the  multifarious  results 
of  his  devious  readings  with  excellent  judgment  and  humor. 
It  should  also  be  remembered,  to  the  great  credit  of  these 
dexterous  manipulations  of  the  curiosities  of  literature,  that 


MEMOIR.  XUl 

they  exhibit  everywhere  the  candor  and  sincerity  for  which 
their  autlior  was  remarkable.  Had  he  been  capable  of  con- 
descending to  artifices  sometimes  conspicuous  in  literary 
achievements,  Doran's  facile  pen  could  have  easily  worked 
into  pompous  essays  and  pretentious  treatises  the  materials 
which  he  offered  with  equal  modesty  and  openness  to  the 
thousands  of  educated  readers  who  were  with  good  reason 
thankful  for  them.  But  good  as  they  are  in  their  peculiarly 
novel  way,  Dr.  Doran's  books  do  not  give  any  adequate  idea 
of  his  literary  usefulness.  To  a  critical  journal,  that  in 
surveying  the  entire  field  of  letters  needs  the  assistance  of 
men  possessing  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  outlying  fields 
and  the  hidden  nooks  and  corners  of  literary  achievement, 
he  was  of  almost  inestimable  convenience  and  value.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  his  exceptional  fitness  for  the  editorial 
management  of  Notes  and  Queries,  which,  in  addition  to 
its  other  titles  of  respect,  fully  justifies  the  felicitous  words 
in  which  Lord  Houghton,  in  an  after-dinner  speech,  called 
it  a  repertory  of  useless  knowledge.  Moreover,  Dr.  Doran 
was  especially  serviceable  to  literary  criticism  on  account  of 
his  special  knowledge  of  large  subjects,  as  well  as  by  the  di- 
versity of  his  out-of-the-way  information.  At  present  we 
know  not  where  to  look  for  his  equal  as  a  student  of  eigh- 
teenth century  literature.  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten  that, 
whilst  he  was  remarkable  as  a  critic  for  his  knowledge  of 
details,  he  was  even  more  remarkable  for  considerateness  to- 
ward the  authors  on  whom  he  passed  judgment.  Perhaps 
no  critic  ever  did  his  full  duty  to  the  public  Avith  so  much 
tenderness  toward  writers.  'You  are  not  mistaken,  my 
dear  fellow,  as  to  your  facts,'  he  once  remarked  in  his  kind- 
liest way  to  a  young  writer,  'but  don't  hurt  people  need- 
lessly with  that  strong  pen  of  yours.  When  you  come  to  be 
as  old  as  I  am,  you  will  be  sorry  to  remember  that  you  have 
been  guilty  of  needless  cruelty  to  any  one.'  The  gentleness 
of  this  just  speech  was  very  characteristic  of  the  man,  and 


XIV  m:emoir. 

may  help  to  account  for  the  hold  he  had  on  the  affections  of 
his  friends." 

A  tender-hearted  man,  a  scholarly  student,  a  careful, 
painstaking  writer,  who  honored  the  profession  by  which  he 
lived — such  was  Dr.  John  Doran,  who  has  left  no  successor 
tnat  is  worthy  of  him. 

R.  H.  S. 


OTRODUCTION. 


The  ground  which  Dr.  Doran  has  covered  in  what  may  be 
callfid  the  biographical  part  of  these  volumes,  occupies  a  century 
and  three-quarters,  beginning  with  Thomas  Betterton,  who  com- 
menced his  dramatic  career  in  1659,  and  ending  with  Edmund 
Kean,  who  finished  his  dramatic  career  in  1833.  Between  these 
dates  flourished  all  the  great  actors  and  actresses  of  the  English 
stage — all,  that  is,  except  the  first  actors  of  the  Elizabethan  dra- 
ma, of  whom  we  know  little  or  nothing  except  their  names,  and 
the  parts  which  they  filled.  That  the  original  representatives  of 
Shakespeare's  characters, — Burbage,  Taylor,  and  the  rest, — were 
excellent  players,  tradition  asserts,  but  in  what  their  excellence 
consisted  we  can  only  conjecture  ;  for  dramatic  criticism,  if  it  can 
be  said  to  have  existed  then,  was  merely  verbal,  and  dramatic 
biography  was  unthought  of.  That  tradition  handed  down  to 
their  successors  the  way  in  which  they  played  their  Hamlets  and 
jRichards  and  Ziears,  is  more  than  likely  :  and  that  it  lingers 
yet  on  the  stage  is  not  improbable.  Still,  there  is  no  certainty 
about  it,  no  such  certainty,  at  any  rate,  as  in  the  days  of  Charles 
the  First,  when  their  immediate  successors  confronted  audiences 
who  could  remember  their  masters,  and  compare  them  with  them. 
The  line  of  succession, — if  broken,  was  broken  during  the  Com- 
monwealth, when  the  theatres  were  closed,  and  His  Majesty's 
Servants,  as  the  players  were  called,  followed  the  fortunes  of  his 
luckless  Majesty  in  the  field,  where  they  fought  bravely,  where 
they  became  quartermasters,  majors,  coronets,  and  what  not,  and 
where  one  of  them, — a  certain  Will  Robinson, — encountered  the 
savage  Harrison,  who  ran  his  sword  through  him,  shouting  as  he 
did  so,  "  Cursed  is  he  who  doeth  the  work  of  the  Lord  neg- 
ligently ! " 

The  calling  of  the  player  was  subject  to  many  vicissitudes,  and 
much  abuse.  His  first  literary  adversary  was  Stephen  Gosson, 
who,  in  his  School  o/ Abuses  (1579),  indulged  in  what  he  called 

XV 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

a  "pleasant  invective  against  poets,  pipers,  players,  jesters,  and 
suchlike  catterpillars  of  a  Commonwealth,"  and  who  drew  awful 
examples  from  Roman  history.  A  damned  dramatist  himself,  he 
launched  damnation  at  all  who  succeeded.  He  was  followed  by 
William  Prynne,  a  voluminous  Puritan  pamphleteer,  who  elected 
himself  Dramatic  Censor  of  the  age,  in  his  Histrio-Mastix  :  the 
Players'  Scoiirge,  or  Actors'  Tragedle  (iG33),  for  which  he 
was  committed  to  the  Tower,  and  sentenced  to  pay  a  fine  of  five 
thousand  pounds ;  to  be  expelled  from  the  Universary  of  Oxford, 
from  the  Society  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  from  his  profession  of  the 
law ;  to  stand  twice  in  the  pillory,  each  time  losing  an  ear ;  to 
have  his  book  burnt  before  his  face  by  the  hangman ;  and  to  suf- 
fer perpetual  imprisonment.  A  third  assailant  of  the  drama  was 
Jeremy  Collier,  an  English  Nonjuring  bishop,  who  lashed  him- 
self into  fury  in  A  Short  View  of  the  Immorality  and  Pro- 
fatieness  of  the  English  Stage  (1698),  evidences  of  which  evil 
qualities  he  found  readily  enough  in  the  plays  of  Dryden,  Con- 
greve,  and  Vanbrugh.  They  defended  themselves  as  well  as  they 
could  (some  of  them  rather  tamely,  it  must  be  confessed),  and  a 
paper  war  of  some  years'  duration  was  the  consequence.  Mr.  S. 
Austin  Allibone,  who  is  nothing  if  not  moral,  calls  him  the  Re- 
former of  the  English  Stage,  a  distinction  of  no  great  value,  if  the 
Stage  be  in  the  condition  which  he  supposes,  and  which  he  sums 
up  as  the  School  of  Vice.  "  Certain  it  is,"  he  eloquently  remarks, 
"  that  conducted  as  our  theatres  are  at  present,  taking  together 
that  which  is  acted  upon,  behind  and  before  the  stage,  we  con- 
sider that  no  one  who  has  a  proper  regard  for  the  interests  of 
morality  can  consistently  lend  his  influence  or  countenance  to 
such  demoralizing  exhibitions.  If  it  should  be  thought  that  we 
are  too  severe  in  our  judgment,  we  answer  that  the  facts  of  the 
case  are  in  this,  as  in  every  other  question,  the  best  evidence. 
This  evidence  will  prove  that  three  out  of  every  four  young  men 
who  become  victims  to  licentiousness  and  intcmpeiance  are  first 
introduced  to  vice  through  the  medium  of  the  theatre.  As  to 
the  other  sex — how  fathers  can  permit  their  daughters,  husbands 
their  wives,  lovers  the  objects  of  their  affections,  to  have  their 
eyes  and  ears  offended  by  what  must  be  heard  and  witnessed  by 
those  who  visit  the  theatres,  is  marvellous  indeed  1" 


INTRODUCTION.  XVli 

Thackeray  disposed  of  Dr.  Firinin,  if  I  remember  rightly,  by 
sending  liim  to  America,  where  lie  became  connected  with  the 
press.  I  forget  how  Dickens  disposed  of  Pecksniff,  but  my  own 
impression  is  that  that  irrepressible  moralist  emigrated  to  Phila- 
delphia, where  he  abandoned  the  difficult  study  of  architecture 
for  the  easier  study  of  bibliography,  and  where,  under  a  nom  de 
plume,  he  continued  to  remind  us  of  our  moral  responsibilities, 
by  editing  "A  Critical  Dictionary  of  English  literature." 

The  sweet  Puritan  poet,  Milton,  thought  better  of  the  stage 
than  the  sour  Puritan  critic  Prynne,  for  a  year  or  two  before  the 
latter  vented  his  rage  upon  it  in  the  Hlstrio-Mastix,  he  made 
his  earliest  appearance  in  print,  in  the  Second  Folio,  in  "An 
Epitaph  on  the  Admirable  Dramatic  Poet  W.  Shakespeare,"  the 
greatness  of  whose  genius  he  was  the  second  poet,  to  pay  homage 
to,  Ben  Jonson  being  the  first,  and  who,  he  declared,  had  built 
for  himself  a  live-long  monument, 

"And  so  sepulcliered  in  such  pomp  dost  lie, 
That  kings  for  such  a  tomb  would  wish  to  die." 

He  had  a  wise  and  liberal  mind,  for  one  and  not  the  least  of  the 
intellectual  recreations  of  his  merry  man  was  dfiUKved  from  the 
drama : 

"  Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon. 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 
Or  sweetest  Sliakespeare,  Fancy's  child. 
Warbles  his  native  woodnotes  wild." 

The  poera  in  which  this  Immortal  celebrates  himself  and  his 
cloudless  existence  ("  L'Allegro  "),  is  saturated  with  the  spirit  of 
Shakespeare,  who,  we  may  be  sure,  was  Milton's  constant  com- 
panion in  the  pleasant  village  of  Horton,  vhtre  he  passed  six  of 
the  happiest  years  of  his  life,  and  where  he  wrote  that  incompai  a- 
ble  masque  of  which  Shakespeare  himself  would  have  been  pmud 
— "Comas."  The  Age  of  Elizrdieth  was  the  most  dramatic  age 
that  England  had  ever  seen,  not  so  much  because  it  was  crowded 
with  great  events,  (though  these  were  not  to  be  despised),  as  be- 
cause it  was  "rammed  with  life," — abundant,  valiant,  dominant, 
physical  life,  that  shrank  from  nothing,  and  irrepressible  intel- 
lectual life  that  mastered  whatever  it  grappled  with,     If  there 


XVlil  INTEODUCTION. 

was  ever  a  time  when  Britons  never  would  be  slaves,  it  was  then, 
as  Philip  of  Spain  found  to  his  cost,  and  as  the  pedantic  followers 
of  the  old  schoolmen  found  to  their  cost.  What  an  England  it 
was — the  England  of  Sydney,  Raleigh  and  Drake, — the  England 
of  Spenser  and  Shakespeare  !  Famous  for  many  things,  it  was 
famous  above  all  for  its  dramatic  writing,  which  in  a  few  years 
re  iched  a  greatness  that  has  ever  since  been  the  wonder  of  the 
nations,  who  have  bestowed  their  homage  upon  the  Master  through 
whom  it  reached  that  greatness,  and  who  now  sits  alone  in  the 
Heaven  of  Fame, — the  supreme  poet  of  mankind !  What  his 
great  contemporaries  thought  of  him  we  have  no  accurate  means  of 
knowing  ;  (there  were  no  coffee-houses  then  where  the  wits  of  the 
town  met,  and  laid  down  critical  laws,  as  they  did  a  century  later 
at  Will's; — and  there  were  no  diurnals  that  chronicled  the  doings 
of  the  players  at  the  Globe,  or  the  Blackfriars ;) — but  what  was 
thought  of  his  works  may  be  gathered  from  the  writings  of  some 
of  his  jealous  fellows,  who  decried  his  successes,  and  to  whom  he 
was  an  upstart  crow  beautified  with  their  feathers  (were  you  badly 
plucked  by  him,  Master  Greene?)  and  may  be  inferred  from  the 
fortune  which  these  works  produced  him,  and  which  enabled  him 
to  retire,  a  prosperous  gentleman,  to  Stratford.  That  he  was 
the  most  popular  poet  of  the  times  is  proved  by  the  surreptitious 
quartos,  which  would  not  have  continued  to  be  printed  unless 
there  had  been  a  demand  for  them,  and  by  the  testimony  of  Ben 
Jonson,  who  declared  that  he  worshipped  his  memory  this  side 
of  idolatry. 

"  Sweet  Swan  of  Avon !  what  a  sight  it  were 
To  see  thee  in  our  waters  yet  appear. 
And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thanaes, 
That  did  so  take  Eliza  and  our  James  I  " 

The  fame  of  Shakespeare,  which  suffered  eclipse  under  the 
Commonwealth,  set  in  darkness  after  the  Restoration,  which 
ushered  in  the  worst  age  of  the  English  drama.  Of  the  early 
dramatists  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  were  played  ten  times  where 
Sh:ikespeare  was  played  once,  and  when  Shakespeare  was  played 
at  all,  his  fair  proportions  were  wofully  mutilated.  The  flight 
which  had  so  taken  Eliza  and  our  James,  was  not  suited  to  the 
aviary  in  which  Davenant,  Killigrew,  Howard  and  the  rest  aired 


INTRODUCTION,  XIX 

their  little  singing  birds.  The  number  of  dramatists,  so  called, 
iu  the  last  half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  exceeded  the  number 
of  actors,  and  very  dreary  reading  they  are,  being  at  once  dull, 
and  indecent.  Their  plays  were  finely  acted,  however,  and  were 
mounted  with  a  splendor  that  was  new  to  the  English  theatres. 
They  possessed,  besides,  a  charm  which  was  lacking  on  the  Eliza- 
bethan Stage, — the  female  parts  were  no  longer  played  by  boys, 
but  by  women.  They  are  said  to  have  come  in  with  other  French 
fashions,  which  had  so  taken  our  Charles  on  the  Continent,  and 
which  proved  rather  expensive  to  the  English  people  before  his 
reign  was  finished.  The  first  great  actor  of  the  period  was  Tho- 
mas Betterton,  the  son  of  an  under-cook  of  Charles  the  First,  who 
was  the  undisputed  monarch  of  the  stage  for  over  half  a  century, 
and  who  created  upwards  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  dift'erent 
parts.  Pepys  reflected  the  opinion  of  his  audiences  when  he 
said,  "I  only  know  that  Mr.  Betterton  is  the  best  actor  in  the 
■world."  Contemporary  with  Betterton  was  Lacy,  who  was  a 
great  Falstaff,  Mohun,  who  was  the  favorite  hero  of  his  tragedies, 
Powell,  Wilks,  Harris,  and  later.  Barton  Booth,  the  true  successor 
of  Betterton.  The  most  famous  actress  of  the  perioil  was  Eliza- 
beth Barry,  who  in  thirty-seven  years  created  one  hundred  and 
twelve  parts.  She  was  the  original  Moniraia,  Belvidera,  Isabella, 
and  Calista,  and  could  create  in  the  same  season  such  opposite 
characters  as  Lady  Brute  iu  "The  Provoked  Wife,"  and  Zara 
in  'The  Mourning  Bride." 

Dr.  Doran  enumerates  above  a  hundred  Post-Shakespearian  dra- 
matists, none  of  whose  productions  (and  they  were  very  volumi- 
nous) can  now  be  called  stock-pieces.  The  most  eminent  were 
Dryden,  Lee,  and  Otway,  who  represented  the  poetic  side  of  the 
English  drama, — at  any  rate,  they  wrote  iu  verse, — and  Congreve, 
Etherege,  and  Vanbrugh,  who  laid  the  foundation  upon  which 
Sheridan,  Goldsmith,  the  Colmans,  Cumberland,  and  others, 
raised  the  structure  of  prose  comedy.  It  is  possible,  I  suppose, 
to  read  them,  but  the  object  in  view  must  be  iinperaiive,  and  one's 
amount  of  unoccupied  leisure  endless.  Waiving  the  question  of 
morals,  the  comedies  of  Congreve  are  extremely  brilliant.  Hunt 
admired  them  after  a  fashion,  though  he  confessed  that  the  heart- 
lessness  and  duplicity  of  some  of  his  characters  are  not  to  be  taken 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

without  allowance  for  llie  ugly  idtial.  "There  is  somelliiug  not 
riMtural,  both  in  bis  characters  and  wit;  and  we  read  him  rather 
to  see  how  entertaining  he  cm  make  his  superior  fine  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  and  what  a  pack  of  sensual  busybodies  they  are,  like 
insects  over  a  pool,  than  from  any  true  sense  of  them  as  men  and 
women."  Thackeray,  who  compares  him  with  Swift,  wliose  truth 
fri<xhtens  one,  and  whose  laugh ler  makes  one  rhelanchoiy,  ?ays, 
"  We  liave  in  Congreve  a  humorous  observer  of  another  school, 
to  whom  the  world  seems  to  have  no  moral  at  all,  and  wliose 
ghastly  doctrine  seems  to  be  that  we  should  eat  and  drink  and  be 
merry  wheu  we  can,  and  go  to  the  deuce  (if  there  be  a  deuce) 
wlien  the  time  comes.'' 

The  qualities  which  distingui.-h  the  Elizabethan  drama  disap- 
peared during  the  Restoration.  Truth  to  nature,  insight  into 
character,  the  art  of  saying  rememberable  things, — were  lost: 
what  were  called  "  the  unities,"  concerning  which  nobody  was 
clear,  were  insisted  upon,  and  types  of  character,  or  what  in  Ben 
Jonsou's  plays  were  considered  humors,  usurped  the  places  of 
men  and  women.  The  masterly  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare  and 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher  was  succeeded  by  rhymed  couplets,  which 
abounded  with  extravagant  similes.  How  absurd  the  poetic  plays 
of  the  Restoration  were  may  be  gathered  from  "  The  Rehearsal," 
in  which  they  were  held  up  to  deserved  ridicule.  Roman  and 
Greek  history  and  mythology  furnished  their  heroes  and  heroines. 
Lee,  for  example,  paid  his  respects  to  Mithridates,  Alexander  the 
Great,  Nero,  Lucius  Junius  Brutus,  and  Constantine  the  Great: 
Dryden  rather  affected  Oriental  subjects, — Inilian  Emperors,  Con- 
quests of  Grenada,  Auruugzebes,  and  w  hat  not :  Rowe  was  Orien- 
tal in  his  Tamerlane,  classical  in  his  Ulysses,  and  historical  in  his 
Jane  Shore  and  Lady  Jane  Grey  :  Crowne  whs  classical  in  his 
Andromache,  Darius,  Regulus  and  Caligula,  and  liistorical  in  his 
Charles  Vlllth.,  the  Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  and  Henry  the 
Sixth :  Otway  was  classical  in  his  Alcibiades,  and  Cains  Marius, 
historical  in  his  Don  Carlos,  and  romantic  in  his  Venice  Pre- 
served;  and  Settle  generally  miscellaneous  in  his  Cambyses,  the 
Empress  of  Morocco,  the  Conquest  of  China,  Ibrahim,  the  Illus- 
trious Bassa,  the  Heir  of  Morocco,  the  Virgin  Prophetess,  or  the 
Fate  of  Troy,  and  the  Siege  of  Troy.    The  more  remote  the  time 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

in  which  their  characters  lived,  and  the  less  that  was  kuowii  of 
the  countries  in  which  their  plots  were  laid,  the  better  both  were 
adapted  for  ihe  purposes  of  these  dramatists.  They  could  not 
well  violate  nature,  for  it  never  entered  into  their  schemes,  and 
if  they  did,  who  iu  tlie  world  cared  ?  Ceriaiidy  not  their  audi- 
ences, who  had  Ceased  to  read  Shakespeare,  and  certainly  not 
their  players,  whose  successes  depended  upon  their  acting,  and 
not  upon  the  plays  they  acted  in.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  the  rule 
was — the  worse  the  play,  the  better  the  player. 

The  Poetic  Drama  had  possession  of  the  English  stage  through 
the  greater  part  of  the  eighteenth  century — a  circumstance  which 
speaks  well  (or  ill)  for  the  patience  of  those  who  witnessed  it.  A 
glance  at  the  "  Biogr.iphica  Dramatica"  will  show  what  they 
put  up  with  from  Thomson,  say,  and  Young,  and  Hill,  and  Mal- 
lett,  and  the  whole  rag  tag,  and  bob-tail  of  Parnassus.  It 
cropped  out  in  tlie  present  century, — this  poor  Poetic  Drama, — 
in  the  versified  plays  of  Shiel,  Maturin,  Knowles,  Miss  Mitford, 
Talfourd,  and  Bulwer,  and  has  ended, — it  would  seem, — with  the 
tragedies  of  Tennyson,  which  have  added  nothing  to  his  reputa- 
tion, and  but  little,  I  imagine,  to  his  bank  account. 

"  Good  Friend,  for  Jesus'  sake  forbear 
To  dig  the  dust  inclosed  here." 

We  know  nothing,  as  I  have  said  before,  of  the  Elizabethan 
actors,  but  we  know  a  great  de;d  of  their  successors  under  the 
Restoration,  and  later.  We  owe  this  knowledge  to  one  who  was 
equally  noted  as  a  player  and  a  dramatist, — and  who  was  the  first, 
and  in  many  respects,  the  best  of  English  dramatic  critics.  I 
mean  Colley  Gibber,  of  course,  whose  "Apology  for  his  Life" 
holds  a  mirror  up  to  the  nature  of  his  fellows  for  upwards  of  forty 
years,  during  which  the  English  stage  was  in  iis  glory,  illustrated, 
as  it  was,  by  the  genius  of  Belterton,  Booth,  Haines,  Moliun, 
Mountfort,  Nokes,  Wilks,  Mrs.  Barry,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  Mrs.  Old- 
field, — not  forgetting  Colley  himself,  tlian  whom  a  better  judge 
of  acting  never  put  pen  to  paper.  No  historian  of  the  stage  can 
aflford  to  neglect  this  unique  book,  which  is  not  only  the  most 
amusing  ever  written,  but  the  best  that  we  have  concerning  actors 
and  actresses.     It  is  impossible  to  read  it  without  admiration  for 


XXll  INTRODUCTION. 

the  talents  of  Gibber,  or  witl.out  seeing,  so  far  as  words  c;ui 
make  us  see,  the  form  and  pressure,  as  well  as  the  magnificent 
though  elaborate  art,  of  his  great  contemporaries.  W«  have  the 
cream  of  it,  so  far  as  it  relates  to  such  of  ihem  as  come  within 
the  scope  of  Dr.  Doian's  work,  which  is  at  once  a  dramatic  his- 
tory as  well  as  a  collection  of  dramatic  biograpliia5- -critical, 
scholarly,  exhaustive,  and  every  way  entertaining. 

Heading  between  the  lines  in  the  pages  which  follow,  we  trace 
the  progress  of  English  dramatic  writing  in  its  decadence  and  its 
renaissance, — from  the  twilight  of  its  settintr  to  the  twilight  of  its 
rising  sun, — and  trace  at  the  same  time  the  progress  of  the  art 
which  embodies  il.  We  see  in  the  latter  a  gradual  return  to 
nature  (if,  indeed,  we  can  ever  be  said  to  see  nature  on  the  stage), 
a  gradual  departure  from  stilled  and  artificial  ideals,  and  a  grad- 
ual creation  of  characters  within  the  range  of  human  possibilities. 
Old  schools  of  acting  give  place  to  new  schools,  as  Booth,  and 
Garrick,  and  Kean  rise  in  succession,  ami  unseat  Betterton,  and 
Quin,  and  the  Kemblcs.  Periwigs  and  small  swords,  brocaded 
dresses  and  high-heeled  shoes  vanish  in  the  Limbo  of  discarded 
"properties,"  and  something  like  correctness  of  costume  appears, 
— until  Shylock,  ceasing  to  be  a  comic  character,  puts  on  the  gaber- 
dine of  his  race,  and  Macbeth,  ceasing  to  be  a  British  officer,  re- 
sumes his  native  kilt  and  tartans.  This  bodily  change  of  the  dra- 
matic art,  if  I  may  call  il  such,  is  ai^companied  by  a  change  in 
the  spirit  of  <lramatic  writing,  \vhiih,  if  not  again  inspired,  as  in 
the  days  of  the  early  masters,  is  yet  illuminated  by  the  glory  of 
the  greatest — Shakespeare.  There  is  a  vitality  in  his  creations 
which  perpetually  asserts  itself,  and  which  is  never  lost  sight  of 
amid  the  shadows  of  Dryden,  Otvvay,  and  Rowe.  They  lived 
for  a  time  through  the  exertions  of  the  players,  but  not  as  Shakes- 
peare lived,  for  however  good  Betterton  and  Booth  and  Gariiek 
and  Kean  may  have  been  in  Melantius,  and  Cato,  and  Lothario, 
and  Bertram,  they  were  better  in  Hamlet,  Oihello,  Lear,  and 
Richard.  The  test  of  the  greatest  actors  is  their  ability  to  play 
Shakespeare. 

Thus  much  (and  imperfectly)  by  way  of  Prologue  to  "  their 
Majesties'  Players,"  from  whom,  I  will  no  longer  detain  the  reader. 


DOPiAFS  ANi\ALS  OF  THE  STAGE. 


CHAPTER  L 

PROLOGUE. 


The  period  of  the  origin  of  the  drama  is  an  unsettled  question, 
but  it  has  been  fixed  at  an  eariy  date,  if  Ave  may  accept  the  theory 
of  a  recent  writer,  who  suggests  that  Moses  described  the  Creation 
from  a  visionary  pictorial  representation,  which  occupied  seven 
days,  from  the  commencement  to  the  close  of  the  spectacle ! 

Among  the  most  remote  of  the  Chinese  traditions,  the  theatre 
holds  a  conspicuous  place.  In  Cochin-China,  there  is  at  this  day 
a  most  primitive  clraracter  about  actors,  authors,  and  audience. 
The  governor  of  the  district  enjoys  the  least  rude  seat  in  the 
sylvan  theatre ;  he  directs  the  applause  by  tapping  with  his  fingers 
on  a  little  drum,  and  as,  at  this  signal,  his  secretaries  fling  strings 
full  of  cash  on  to  the  stage,  the  performance  suffers  from  continual 
interruption.  For  the  largesse  distributed  by  the  patron  of  the 
drama,  and  such  of  the  spectators  as  choose  to  follow  his  example, 
the  actors  and  actresses  furiously  scramble,  while  the  poor  poet 
stands  by,  sees  bis  best  situations  sacrificed,  and  is  none  the 
richer, — by  way  of  compensation. 

In  Greece,  the  profession  of  actor  was  accounted  honorable. 
In  Rome,  it  was  sometimes  a  well-requited,  but  also  a  despised 
vocation.  During  the  decade  of  years,  when  that  aristocratic  dem- 
oci-at  Pisistratus  held  power,  the  drama  first  appeared  (it  is  said) 
at  Athens.  It  formed  a  portion  of  the  religion  of  the  state.  The 
theatre  was  a  temple  in  which,  rudely  enough  at  first,  the  audience 
were  taught  how  the  will,  not  only  of  men  but  of  gods,  must 
necessarily  submit  to  the  irresistible  force  of  Destiny.  This  last 
1* 


10  nOEAN's   ANNALS   OF   THE    STAGE. 

power,  represented  by  a  combination  of  the  lyric  and  epic 
elanients,  formed  the  drama  which  had  its  origin  in  Greece  alone. 
In  such  a  sense  the  Semitic  races  had  no  drama  at  all,  while  in 
Greece  it  was  almost  exclusively  of  Attic  growth,  its  religions 
character  being  especially  supported,  on  behalf  of  the  audience, 
Dy  the  ever  sagacious,  morally,  and  fen^ently  pious  chonis.  Lyric 
(ragedy  existed  before  the  age  of  Thespis  and  Pisistratus ;  but  a 
spoken  tragedy  dates  from  that  period  alone,  above  five  centuries 
earlier  than  the  Christian  era ;  and  the  new  theatre  found  at  once 
its  l^rynne  and  its  Collier  in  that  hearty  hater  of  actors  and  act- 
ing, the  legislative  Solon. 

At  the  great  festivals,  when  the  theatres  were  opened,  the  ex- 
penses of  the  representations  were  borne  partly  by  the  state  and 
partly  by  certain  wealthy  officials.  The  admission  was  free,  until 
over-crowding  produced  fatal  accidents.  To  diminish  the  latter, 
an  entrance-fee  of  two  oholi,  Z\d.,  was  established,  but  the  receipts 
were  made  over  to  the  poor.  From  morning  till  dewy  eve  these 
rootless  buildings,  capable  of  containing,  on  an  average,  twenty 
thousand  persons,  were  filled  from  the  ground  to  the  topmost 
seat,  in  the  sweet  spring-tide,  sole  theatrical  season  of  the  Greeks. 

Disgrace  and  disfranchisement  were  the  penalties  laid  upon  the 
professional  Roman  actor.  He  was  accounted  infamous,  and  waS 
excluded  from  the  tribes.  Nevertheless,  the  calling  in  Italy  had 
something  of  a  religious  quality.  Livy  tells  us  of  a  company  of 
Etruscan  actors,  ballet-pantomimists,  however,  rather  than  co- 
medians, who  were  employed  to  avert  the  anger  of  the  gods, 
which  was  manifested  by  a  raging  pestilence.  These  Etruscans 
were,  in  their  way,  the  originators  of  the  drama  in  Italy.  That 
drama  was,  at  first,  a  dance,  then  a  dance  and  song;  with  them 
was  subsequently  intei'woven  a  story.  From  the  period  of  Liviup 
Andronicus  (b.  c.  240)  is  dated  the  origin  of  an  actual  Latit 
theatre,  the  glory  of  which  was  at  its  highest  in  the  days  of  Attiiie 
and  Terence,  but  for  which  a  dramatic  literature  became  extinct 
when  the  mimes  took  the  place  of  the  old  comedy  and  tragedy. 

Even  in  Rome  the  skill  of  the  artist  sometimes  freed  him  from 
the  degradation  attached  to  the  exercise  of  his  art.  Roscius,  the 
popular  comedian,  contemporary  with  Cicero,  was  elevated  by 
Sulhi    to    the    equestrian    dignity,   and   with    ^sopus,   the  great 


PKOLOGUE.  11 

tragedian,  enjoyed  the  friendship  of  Tully,  and  of  Tall}'s  friends, 
the  wisest  and  the  noblest  in  Rome,  Roscius  and  ^sopus  were 
what  would  now  be  called  scholars  and  gentlemen,  as  well  as  un- 
equalled artists,  whom  no  amount  of  application  could  appall  when 
they  had  to  achieve  a  triumph  in  their  art.  An  Austrian  emperor 
once  "  encored"  an  entire  opera  (the  Matrimonio  Ser/reto);  but, 
according  to  Cicero,  his  friend  ^sopus  so  delighted  his  enthu- 
siastic audience,  that  in  one  piece  they  encored  him  "  millies"  a 
thousand,  or  perhaps  an  indefinite  number  of  times.  The  Roman 
tragedian  lived  well,  and  bequeathed  a  vast  fortune  to  his  son. 
Roscius  earned  £32  daily,  and  he,  too,  amassed  great  wealth. 

The  mimes  were  satirical  burlesques,  parts  of  which  were  often 
improvised,  and  had  some  affinity  to  the  pasquinades  and  harlequin- 
ades of  modern  Italy.  The  writers  were  the  intimate  Mends  of 
emperors ;  the  actors  were  infamous.  Cfesar  induced  Decius 
Laberius,  an  author  of  knightly  rank,  to  appear  on  the  stage  in 
one  of  these  pieces ;  and  Laberius  obeyed,  not  for  the  sake  of  the 
honorarium,  £4,000,  but  from  dread  of  disobeying  an  order  from 
so  powerful  a  master.  The  unwilling  actor  profited  by  his  de- 
gradation to  satirize  the  policy  of  Ctesar,  who  did  not  resent  the 
liberty,  but  restored  Laberius  to  the  rank  and  equestrian  privi- 
leges which  he  had  forfeited  by  appearing  on  the  stage.  Laberius, 
however,  never  recovered  the  respect  of  his  countrymen,  not  even 
of  those  who  had  applauded  him  the  most  loudly. 

The  licentious  pantomimists  were  so  gross  in  their  performances, 
that  they  even  disgusted  Tiberius ;  who  forbade  them  from  hold- 
ing any  intercourse,  as  the  professional  histriones  or  actors  of  the 
drama  had  done,  Avith  Romans  of  equestrian  or  senatorial  dignity. 
It  was  against  the  stage,  exclusively  given  up  to  their  scandalous 
exhibitions,  that  the  Christian  fiithers  levelled  their  denunciations. 
They  would  have  approved  a  "well-trod  stage,"  as  Milton  did, 
and  the  object  attributed  to  it  by  Aristotle, — but  they  had  only 
anathemas  for  that  horrible  theatre  where  danced  and  postured 
Bathyllus  and  Hylas,  and  Pylades,  Latinus,  and  Nero,  and  even 
that  graceful  Paris  whom  Domitian  slew  in  his  jealousy,  and  of 
whom  Martial  wrote  that  he  was  the  great  glory  and  grief  of  the 
Roman  theatre,  and  that  all  Venuses  and  Cupids  were  buried 
forever  in  the  sepulchre  of  Pai-is,  the  darling  of  old  Rome. 


12  DOUAM's    annals    of    IJiE    8TAGE. 

In  this  our  England,  minds  and  hearts  had  ever  been  open  to 
dramatic  impressions.  The  Druidical  rites  contained  the  elements 
of  dramatic  spectacle.  The  Pagan  Saxon  era  had  its  dialogue- 
actors,  or  buffoons ;  and  when  the  period  of  Christianity  suf- 
ceeded,  its  professors  and  teachere  took  of  the  evil  epoch  what  best 
suited  their  purposes.  In  narrative  dialogue,  or  song,  they  drama- 
tized the  incidents  of  the  lives  of  the  saints,  and  of  One  greater 
than  saints ;  and  they  thus  rendered  intelligible  to  listeners,  what 
would  have  been  incomprehensible  if  it  had  been  presented  to 
them  Jis  readers. 

In  Castle-Hall,  before  farm-house  fires,  on  the  bridges,  and  in 
the  market-places,  the  men  who  best  performed  the  united  offices 
of  missionary  and  actor,  were,  at  once,  the  most  popular  preachers 
and  players  of  the  day.  The  greatest  of  them  all,  St.  Adhelm, 
when  he  found  his  audience  growing  weary  of  too  much  serious 
exposition,  would  take  his  small  harp  from  under  his  robes,  and 
would  strike  up  a  narrative  song,  that  would  render  his  hearers 
hilarious. 

The  mixture  of  the  sacred  and  profane  in  the  early  dialog-ues 
and  drama  prevailed  for  a  lengthened  period.  The  profane  some- 
times superabounded,  and  the  higher  church  authorities  had  to 
look  to  it.  The  monotony  of  monastic  life  had  caused  the  wan- 
dering glee-men  to  be  too  warmly  welcomed  within  the  monastery 
circles,  where  there  were  men  who  cheerfully  employed  their 
energies  in  furnishing  new  songs  and  lively  "  patter"  to  the  strollers. 
It  was,  doubtless,  all  well  meant ;  but  more  serious  men  thought 
it  wise  to  prohibit  the  indulgence  of  this  peculiar  literary  pursuit. 
Accordingly,  the  Council  of  Clovershoe,  and  decrees  bearing  the 
king's  mark,  severally  ordained  that  actors,  and  other  vagabonds 
therein  named,  should  no  longer  have  access  to  monasteries,  and 
that  no  priest  should  either  play  the  glee-man  himself,  or  c  - 
courage  the  members  of  that  disreputable  profession,  by  turning 
ale-poets,  and  writing  songs  for  them. 

It  is  a  singular  fact,  that  one  of  our  earliest  theatres  had  Geof- 
fi-ey,  a  monk,  for  its  manager,  and  Dunstable, — immortalized  by 
Silvester  Daggerwood, — for  a  locality.  This  early  manager,  who 
flourished  about  1119,  rented  a  house  in  the  town  just  named, 
when  a  drama  was  represented,  which  had  St.  Katherine  for  a 


rROLOOUE.  13 

boroine,  and  Ler  whole  life  for  a  subject.  This  proto-theatre  was, 
of  course,  burnt  down  ;  and  the  managing  monk  withdrew  from 
the  profession,  more  happy  than  most  ruined  managers,  in  this, 
that  he  had  his  cell  at  St.  Albans,  to  which  he  could  retire,  and 
therein  find  a  home  for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

Through  a  course  of  Mysteries,  Miracle-plays, — illustrating 
Script'j''e,  history,  legend,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  martyrs.  Moral- 
ities— in  which  the  vices  were  in  antagonism  against  the  virtues, 
and  Chronicle-plays,  which  were  history  in  dialogue,  we  finally 
arrive  at  legitimate  tragedy  and  comedy.  Till  this  last  and 
welcome  consummation,  the  Church  as  regularly  employed  the 
stage  for  religious  ends,  as  the  old  heathen  magistrates  did  when 
they  made  village  festivals  the  means  of  maintaining  a  religious 
feeling  among  the  villagers.  Professor  Browne,  in  his  History  of 
Greeh  Classical  Literature^  remarks  : — "  The  believers  in  a  pure 
faith  can  scarcely  understand  a  religious  element  in  dramatic 
exhibitions.  They  who  know  that  God  is  a  spirit,  and  that  they 
who  worship  Him  must  worship  Him  in  spirit  and  in  truth,  feel 
that  His  attributes  are  too  awful  to  permit  any  ideas  connected 
with  Deity  to  be  brought  into  contact  with  the  exhibition  of 
human  passions.  Religious  poetry  of  any  kind,  except  that  which 
has  been  inspired,  has  seldom  been  the  work  of  minds  sufficiently 
heavenly  and  spiritual,  to  be  perfectly  successfiil  in  attaining  the 
end  of  poetry,  namely,  the  elevation  of  the  thoughts  to  a  level 
with  the  subject.  It  brings  God  down  to  man,  instead  of  raising 
man  to  Him.  It  causes  that  which  is  most  offensive  to  religious 
feeling,  and  even  good  taste,  irreverent  famiUarity  with  subjects 
which  cannot  be  contemplated  without  awe.  But  a  religious 
drama  would  be,  to  those  who  realize  to  their  own  minds  the 
spirituality  of  God,  nothing  less  than  anthropomorphism  and 
idolatry.  "  Christians  of  a  less  advanced  age,  and  believers  in  ;i 
more  sensuous  creed,  were  able  to  view  with  pleasure  the  mystery- 
plays  in  which  the  gravest  truths  of  the  Gospel  were  dramatically 
represented  ;  nay,  more,  just  as  the  ancient  Athenians  could  look 
even  upon  their  gross  and  licentious  comedy,  as  forming  part  of 
a  religious  ceremony,  so  could  Christians  imagine  a  religious  ele- 
ment in  profane  dramas  which  represented  in  a  ludicrous  light 
subjects  of  the  most  holy  character." 


14  dohan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Mysteries  kept  the  stage  from  tlie  Norman  to  the  Tudor  eia. 
The  Morahties  began  to  displace  them  during  the  reign  of  Henry 
VI.,  who  was  a  less  beneficial  patron  of  the  stage  than  that  Richard 
III.  who  has  himself  retained  a  so  unpleasant  possession  of  the 
scene.  Actors  and  dramatists  have  been  ungrateful  to  this  indi- 
vidual, who  was  their  first  practically  useful  patron.  Never, 
pivvious  to  Richard's  time,  had  an  English  prince  been  known  to 
have  a  company  of  players  of  his  own.  When  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter, a  troop  of  such  servants  was  attached  to  his  household. 
Richard  was  unselfish  towards  these  new  retainers ;  whenever  he 
was  too  "  busy,"  or  "  not  i'  the  vein"  to  receive  instruction  or 
amusement  at  their  hands,  he  gave  them  license  to  travel  abroad, 
and  forth  went  the  mirthful  company,  fi-om  county  to  county, 
mansion  to  mansion,  from  one  corporation-hall  and  from  one  inn 
yard  to  another,  playing  securely  under  the  sanction  of  his  name, 
winning  favor  for  themselves,  and  a  great  measure  of  public 
regard,  probably,  for  their  then  generous  and  princely  master. 

The  fashion  thus  set  by  a  prince  was  followed  by  the  nobility, 
and  it  led  to  a  legal  recognition  of  the  actor  and  his  craft,  in  the 
royal  license  of  1572,  whereby  the  players  connected  with  noble 
houses  were  empowered  to  play  Avherever  it  seemed  good  to  them, 
if  their  masters  sanctioned  their  absence,  without  any  let  or  hin- 
derance  from  the  law. 

The  patronage  of  actors  by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  led  to  a  love 
of  acting  by  gentlemen  amateurs.  Richard  had  ennobled  the 
profession,  the  gentlemen  of  the  Inns  of  Court  took  it  up,  and 
they  soon  had  kings  and  queens  leading  the  applause  of  approv- 
ing audiences.  To  the  same  example  may  be  traced  the  custom 
of  having  dramatic  performances  in  public  schools,  the  pupils  being 
the  performers.  These  boys,  or,  in  their  place,  the  children  of 
the  Chapel  Royal,  were  frequently  summoned  to  play  in  presence 
of  the  king  and  court.  Boatsful  of  them  went  down  the  river  to 
Greenwich,  or  up  to  Hampton  Court,,  to  enliven  the  dulness  or 
stimulate  the  religious  enthusiasm  of  their  royal  auditors  there. 
At  the  former  place,  and  when  there  was  not  yet  any  suspicion  of 
the  orthodoxy  of  Henry  VIIL,  the  boys  of  St.  Paul's  acted  a 
Latin  play  before  the  sovereign  and  the  representatives  of  other 
sovereigns.     The  object  of  the  play  was  to  exalt  the  Pope,  and 


PROLOGUE.  15 

consequently,  Luther  and  bis  wife  were  the  foolish  villains  of  the 
piece,  exposed  to  the  contempt  and  derision  of  the  delighted  and 
right-thinking  hearers. 

In  most  cases  the  playwrights,  even  when  members  of  the  clergy, 
were  actors  as  well  as  authors.  This  is  the  more  singular,  as  the 
players  were  generally  of  a  roystering  character,  and  were  but  ill- 
regarded  by  the  Church.  Nevertheless,  by  their  united  eftoi-ts. 
though  they  were  not  always  colleagues,  they  helped  the  rude 
production  of  the  first  regularly  constructed  English  comedy, 
"  Ralph  Roister  Doister,"  in  1540.  The  author  was  a  "  clerk," 
named  Nicholas  Udall,  whom  Eton  boys,  whose  Master  he  was, 
hated  because  of  his  harshness.  The  rough  and  reverend  gentle- 
man brought  forth  the  above  piece,  just  one  year  previous  to  bis 
losing  the  Mastership,  on  suspicion  of  being  concerned  in  a  robbery 
of  the  college  plate. 

Subsequently  to  this,  the  Cambridge  youths  had  the  courage  to 
play  a  tragedy  called  Pammachus,  which  must  have  been  offensive 
to  the  government  of  Henry  VIII.  Gardiner,  Bishop  of  Win- 
chester, Chancellor  of  the  University,  immediately  wrote  a  char- 
acteristic letter  to  the  Vice-Chancellor,  Dr,  Matthew  Parker.  It 
is  dated  27th  March,  1545.  "I  have  been  informed,"  he  says, 
"  that  the  youth  in  Christ's  College,  contrary  to  the  mind  of  the 
Master  and  President,  hath  of  late  played  a  tragedy  called  Para- 
machus,  a  part  of  which  tragedy  is  so  pestiferous  as  were  intolera- 
ble. If  it  be  so,  I  intend  to  travail,  as  my  duty  is,  for  the  refor- 
mation of  it.  I  know  mine  office  there,  and  mind  to  do  in  it  as 
much  as  I  may."  Parker  answers,  on  the  3d  of  April,  that  the 
play  had  been  performed  with  the  concurrence  of  the  College 
authorities,  after  means  had  been  taken  to  strike  out  "  slanderous 
cavillations  and  suspicious  sentences," and  "all  such  matter  where- 
by offence  might  greatly  have  risen.  Hitherto,"  adds  Parker, 
"  have  I  not  seen  any  man  that  was  present  at  it,  to  show  him- 
self grieved  ;  albeit  it  was  thought  their  time  and  labor  might  be 
spent  in  a  better-handled  matter."  Gardiner  is  not  satisfied  with 
this,  and  he  will  have  the  subject  investigated.  Accordingly, 
some  of  the  audience  are  ordered  to  be  examined,  to  discover  if 
what  they  applauded  was  what  the  King's  government  had  re- 
proved.    "  I  have  heard  specialities,"  he  writes,  •'  that  they"  (the 


16  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

actors)  "  reproved  Lent  fastings,  all  ceremonies,  and  albeit  the 
words  of  sacrament  and  mass  were  not  named,  yet  the  rest  of  the 
matter  written  in  that  tragedy,  in  the  reproof  of  them  Avas  ex- 
pressed." Gardiner  intimates  that  if  the  authorities  concurred, 
after  exercising  a  certain  censorship,  in  hcensing  the  representa- 
tion, they  were  responsible  for  all  that  was  uttered,  as  it  must  have 
fiad  the  approval  of  their  judgments. 

A  strict  examination  followed.  Nearly  the  entire  audience 
passed  under  it,  but  not  a  man  could  or  would  remember  that  he 
luid  heard  any  thing  to  which  he  could  make  objection.  There- 
ivith,  Parker  transmitted  to  Gardiner  the  stage-copy  of  the  tragedy, 
which  the  irate  prelate  thus  reviews  : — "  Perusing  the  book  of  the 
tragedy  which  ye  sent  me,  I  find  much  matter  not  stricken  out,  all 
which  by  the  parties'  own  confession,  was  uttered  very  naught, 
and  on  the  other  part  something  not  well  omitted."  Flagrant  lies 
are  said  to  be  mixed  up  with  incontrovertible  truths ;  and  it  is 
suggested,  that  if  any  of  the  audience  had  declared  that  they  had 
heard  nothing  at  which  they  could  take  offence,  it  must  have  been 
6ecause  they  had  forgotten  much  of  what  they  had  heard.  Ulti- 
mately, Parker  was  left  to  deal  with  the  parties  as  he  thought 
oest;  and  he  wisely  seems  to  have  thought-it  best  to  do  nothing. 
Plays  were  the  favorite  recreation  of  the  university  men  ;  albeit, 
AS  Parker  writes,  "  Two  or  three  in  Trinity  College  think  it  very 
dnseeming  that  Christians  should  play  or  be  present  at  any  profane 
eomedies  or  tragedies." 

Actors  and  clergy  came  into  direct  collision,  when,  at  the  ac- 
iession  of  Edward  VI.  (1547),  the  Bishop  of  Winchester  an- 
/lounced  "  a  solemn  dirge  and  mass,''^  in  honor  of  the  lately 
deceased  king,  Henry  VIII.  The  indiscreet  Southwark  actore 
/hereupon  gave  notice  that,  at  the  time  announced  for  the  religious 
«  rvice,  they  would  act  a  "  solempne  play"  to  try,  as  the  bishop 
';'niarks  in  a  letter  to  Paget,  "  who  shall  have  most  resort,  they  in 
i>ame  or  I  in  earnest."  The  prelate  urgently  requests  the  inter- 
ference of  the  Lord  Protector,  but  with  what  effect,  the  records  in 
the  State  Paper  Office  afford  no  information. 

Some  of  these  Southwark  actors  were  the  "  servapts"  of  Henry 
(■'•vcy.  Marquis  of  Dorset,  whose  mansion  was  on  the  opposite  side 
f)f  the  river.     In  1551  he  was  prom<  tt  d  to  the  dukef'^^'m  of  Suf 


PROLOGUE.  17 

folk,  but  his  poor  players  were  tlieii  prohibited  from  playing  any 
where,  save  in  their  master's  presence. 

Severity  led  to  fi-aud.  In  the  autumn  of  the  following  year. 
Richard  Ogle  forwarded  to  the  Council  a  forged  license,  taken 
from  the  players — a  matter  which  was  pronounced  to  be  "  worthy 
of  correction."  The  young  king's  patronage  of  his  own  "  ser- 
vaiits"  was  not  marked  by  a  princely  liberality  ;  the  salary  of  one 
of  his  players  of  interludes,  John  Brown,  was  five  marks  yearly,  as 
wages;  and  one  pound  three  shillings  and  fourpence,  for  his 
livery. 

Of  the  party  dramatists  of  this  reign,  that  reverend  prelate, 
"  Bilious  Bale,"  was  the  most  active  and  the  least  pleasant-tempered. 
Bale  had  been  a  Romanist  priest,  he  was  now  a  Protestant  bishop 
(of  Ossory),  with  a  wife  to  control  the  episcopal  hospitality.  Bale 
"  had  seen  the  world."  lie  had  gone  through  marvellous  adven- 
tures, of  which  his  adversaries  did  not  believe  a  word  ;  and  he  had 
converted  the  most  abstruse  doctrinal  subjects  into  edifying  semi- 
lively  comedies.  The  bishop  did  not  value  his  enemies  at  the 
worth  of  a  rush  in  an  old  king's  chamber.  He  was  altogether  a 
Boanerges;  and  when  his  "John,  King  of  England,"  was  pro 
duced,  the  audience,  comprising  two  factions  in  the  church  and 
state,  found  the  policy  of  Rome  towards  this  country  illustrated 
with  such  effect,  that  while  one  party  hotly  denounced,  the  other 
applauded  the  coarse  and  vigorous  audacity  of  the  author. 

So  powerful  were  the  influences  of  the  stage,  when  thus  applied, 
that  the  government  of  Queen  Mary  made  similar  application  of 
them  in  support  of  their  own  views.  A  play,  styled  "  Respublica," 
exhibited  to  the  people  the  alleged  iniquity  of  the  Reformation, 
pointed  out  the  dread  excellence  of  the  sovereign  herself  (personi- 
fied as  Queen  Nemesis),  and  exemplified  her  inestimable  qualities, 
I'y  making  all  the  Virtues  follow  in  her  train  as  Maids  of  honor. 

Such,  now,  were  the  orthodox  actors ;  but  the  heretical  players 
were  to  be  provided  against  by  stringent  measures.  A  decree  of 
the  sovereign  and  council,  in  1556,  prohibited  all  players  and 
pipers  from  strolling  through  the  kingdom ;  such  strollers — the 
pipers  singularly  included — being,  as  it  was  said,  disseminators  of 
seditions  and  heresies. 

The  eye  of  the  observant  government  also  watched  the  resident 


18  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

actors  in  town.  King  Edward  liad  ordered  the  removal  of  the 
king's  revels  and  masques  from  Warwick  Inn,  Holborn,  "  to  the 
late  dissolved  house  of  Blackfriars,  London,"  where  considerable 
utlay  was  made  for  scenery  and  machinery — adjuncts  to  stage 
ilect — which  are  erroneously  supposed  to  hav^e  been  first  intro- 
i  I  need  a  century  later,  by  Davenant.  There  still  remained  acting-. 
;i  company  at  the  Boar's  Head,  without  Aldgate,  on  whom  the 
jtolice  of  Mary  were  ordered  to  make  levy.  The  actors  had  been 
|)l:iying  in  that  inn-yard  a  comedy,  entitled  a  "  Sack  full  of  News." 
The  order  of  the  privy  council  to  the  mayor  informs  his  worship, 
that  it  is  "  a  lewd  play ;"  bids  him  send  his  officers  to  the  theatre 
without  delay,  and  not  only  to  apprehend  the  comedians,  but  to 
"  take  their  play-book  from  them  and  send  it  before  the  privy 
council." 

The  actors  were  under  arrest  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  and 
were  then  set  free,  but  under  certain  stipulations  to  be  observed  by 
them  "  and  all  other  players  throughout  the  city."  Namely  ;  they 
were  to  exercise  their  vocation  of  acting  "  between  All  Saints  and 
Shrovetide"  only ;  and  they  were  bound  to  act  no  other  plays  but 
such  as  were  approved  of  by  the  Ordinary.  This  was  the  most 
stringent  censorship  to  which  the  stage  has  ever  been  subjected. 

Although  Edward  had  commanded  the  transfer  of  the  company 
of  actors  from  Warwick  Inn  to  Blackfriars,  that  dissolved  monas- 
tery was  not  legally  converted  into  a  theatre  till  the  year  1576, 
when  Elizabeth  was  on  the  throne.  In  that  year  the  Earl  of 
Leicester's  servants  were  licensed  to  open  their  series  of  seasons  in 
a  house,  the  site  of  which  is  occupied  by  Apothecaries'  Hall,  and 
some  adjacent  buildings.  At  the  head  of  the  company  was  James, 
father  of  Richard  Burbage,  the  original  representative  of  Richard 
III.  and  of  Hamlet,  the  author  of  which  tragedies,  so  named,  was, 
at  the  time  of  the  opening  of  the  Blackfriars  theatre,  a  lad  of 
twelve  years  of  age,  surmounting  the  elementary  difficulties  of 
Latin  and  Greek,  in  the  Free  School  of  Stratford-on-Avon. 

In  Elizabeth  the  drama  possessed  a  generous  patroness  and  a 
vindictive  censor.  Her  afternoons  at  Windsor  Castle  and  Rich- 
mond were  made  pleasant  to  her  by  the  exertions  of  her  players. 
The  cost  to  her  of  occasional  performances  at  the  above  residences 
during  two  yenrs,  amounted  to  a  friction  over  £444.     There  were 


PKOLOGUE,  19 

incidental  expenses  also,  proving  that  the  actors  were  well  cared 
for.  In  the  year  1575,  among  the  estimates  for  plays  at  Hampton 
Court,  the  liberal  sum  of  £S  145.  is  set  down  "for  the  boyling  of 
the  brawns  against  Xtmas." 

As  at  Court,  so  also  did  the  drama  flourish  at  the  Universities, 
especially  at  Cambridge.  There,  in  1566,  the  coarse  dialect  com- 
edy, Gammer  Ourton's  Needle — a  marvellous  production,  when 
considered  as  the  work  of  a  bishop.  Still,  of  Bath  and  Wells — was 
represented  amid  a  world  of  laughter. 

Tliere,  too,  was  exercised  a  sharp  censorship  over  both  actors 
and  audience.  In  a  letter  from  Vice-Chancellor  Hatcher  to  Bur- 
leigh, the  conduct  of  Punter,  a  student  of  St.  John's,  at  stage-plays 
at  Caius  and  Trinity,  is  complained  of  as  unsteady.  In  1581  the 
heads  of  houses  again  make  application  to  Burleigh,  objecting  to 
the  players  of  the  Gi-eat  Chamberlain,  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  poet  and 
courtier,  exhibiting  certain  plays  already  "  practised"  by  them  be- 
fore the  King.  The  authorities,  when  scholastic  audiences  were 
noisy,  or  when  players  brought  no  novelty  with  them  to  Cam- 
brido-e,  applied  to  the  great  statesman  in  town,  and  vexed  him  with 
dramatic  troubles,  as  if  he  had  been  general  stage-manager  of  all 
the  companies  strolling  over  the  kingdom. 

On  one  occasion  the  stage  was  employed  as  a  vantage  ground, 
whereon  to  raise  a  battery  against  the  power  of  the  stage's  great 
patroness,  the  Queen.  In  1599,  the  indiscreet  followers  of  Essex 
"  filled  the  pit  of  the  theatre,  where  Rutland  and  Southampton  are 
daily  seen,  and  where  Shakspeare's  company,  in  the  great  play  of 
Richard  II.,  have,  for  more  than  a  year,  been  feeding  the  public 
eye  with  pictures  of  the  deposition  of  kings."  In  June,  of  the 
following  year,  "  those  scenes  of  Shakspeare's  play  disturb  EUza- 
beth's  dreams."  The  play  had  had  a  long  and  splendid  run,  not 
less  from  its  glorious  agony  of  dramatic  passion  than  from  the  open 
countenance  lent  to  it  by  the  Earl,  who,  before  his  voyage,  was  a 
Ci>nstant  auditor  at  the  Globe,  and  by  his  constant  companions, 
Rutland  and  Southampton.  The  great  parliamentary  scene,  the 
deposition  of  Richard,  not  in  the  printed  book,  was  possibly  not 
in  the  early  play ;  yet  the  representation  of  a  royal  nuirder  and  a 
successful  usurpation  on  the  public  stage  is  an  event  to  be  applied 
by  the  groundlings,  in  a  pernicious  and  disloyal  sense.     Tongues 


20  DORANS   ANNALS   OF   THE    STAGE. 

whisper  to  the  Qiieeu  that  this  phiy  is  part  of  a  great  plot  to  ttaoh 
her  subjects  how  to  murder  kings.  They  tell  her  slic  is  Riohard  ; 
Essex,  Bolingbroke.  These  warnings  sink  into  her  mind.  When 
Lambard,  Keeper  of  the  Records,  waits  upon  her  at  the  palace, 
she  exclaims  to  liim,  "  I  am  Richard  !     Know  you  not  that?" 

The  performance  of  this  play  was,  nevertheless,  not  prohibited. 
When  the  final  attempt  of  Essex  was  about  to  be  made,  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1601, — "To  fan  the  courage  of  their  crew,"  says  Mr.  Hep- 
worth  Dixon,  from  whose  Personal  History  of  Lord  Bacon  I 
borrow  these  details,  "  and  prepare  the  citizens  for  news  of  a 
royal  deposition,  the  chiefs  of  the  insurrection  think  good  to 
revive,  for  a  night,  their  favorite  play.  They  send  for  Augustine 
Phillips,  manager  of  the  Blackfriars  Theatre,  to  Essex  House, 
Monteagle,  Percy,  and  two  or  three  more — among  them  Cufte  and 
Meyrick — gentlemen  whose  names  and  faces  he  does  not  re- 
cognize, receive  him ;  and  Lord  Monteagle,  speaking  for  the  rest, 
tells  him  that  they  want  to  have  played  the  next  day  Shakspeare's 
deposition  of  Richard  H.  Phillips  objects  that  the  play  is  stale, 
that  a  new  one  is  running,  and  that  tlie  company  will  lose  money 
by  a  change.  Monteagle  meets  his  objections.  The  theatre  shall 
not  lose ;  a  host  of  gentlemen  from  Essex  House  will  fill  the 
galleries ;  if  there  is  fear  of  loss,  here  are  40s.  to  make  it  up. 
Phillips  takes  the  money,  and  King  Richard  is  duly  deposed  for 
them,  and  put  to  death." 

Meanwhile,  the  profession  of  player  had  been  assailed  by  fierce 
opponents.  In  1587,  when  twenty-three  summers  lightly  sat  on 
Shakspeare's  brow,  Gosson,  the  "  parson"  of  St.  Botolph's,  dis- 
charged the  fii'st  shot  against  stage  plays  which  had  yet  been 
fired  by  any  one  not  in  absolute  authority.  Gosson's  book  was 
entitled,  A  School  of  Abuse,  and  it  professed  to  contain  "  a 
pleasant  invective  against  poets,  players,  jesters,  and  such  like 
riaterpillars  of  a  Commonwealth."  Gosson's  pleasantry  consists  in 
his  illogical  employment  of  invective.  Domitian  favored  plays, 
argal,  Domitian's  domestic  felicity  was  troubled  by  a  player — 
Paris.  Of  Caligula,  Gosson  remarks,  that  he  made  so  nuich  of 
players  and  dancers,  that  "he  sutfered  them  openly  to  kiss  his 
lips,  when  the  senators  might  scarcely  have  a  lick  at  his  feet;" 
and  the  good  man    of  St,   Botolph's  adds,  that   the  murder    of 


PROLOGUE.  21 

Domitian,  by  Charca,  was  "  a  fit  catastrophe,"  for  it  was  done  as 
the  Emperor  was  returnhig  from  a  play ! 

As  a  painter  of  manners,  Gosson  thus  gayly  limns  the  audiences 
of  his  time.  "  In  our  Assemblies  at  plays  in  London,  you  shall 
see  such  heaving  and  shouting,  such  pitching  and  shouldering 
to  sit  by  women,  such  care  for  their  garments  that  they  be  not 
ti'odden  on,  such  eyes  to  their  laps  that  no  chips  light  on  them, 
such  pillows  to  their  backs  that  they  take  no  hurt,  such  masking-s 
in  their  ears,  I  know  not  what ;  such  giving  them  pippins  to  pass 
the  time ;  such  playing  at  foot-saunt  without  cards ;  such  ticking, 
such  toying,  such  smiling,  such  winking,  and  such  manning  them 
home  when  the  sports  are  ended,  that  it  is  a  right  comedy  to 
mark  their  behavior."  In  this  picture  Gosson  paints  a  good- 
humored  and  a  gallant  people.  When  he  turns  from  failings  to 
vices,  the  old  rector  of  St.  Botolph's  dwells  upon  them  as  Tartnffe 
does  upon  the  undraped  shoulders  of  Dorinne.  He  likes  the  sub- 
ject, and  makes  attractive  what  he  denounces  as  pernicious.  The 
playwrights  he  assails  with  the  virulence  of  an  author,  who,  having 
been  unsuccessful  himself,  has  no  gladness  in  the  success,  nor  any 
generosity  for  the  short-comings  of  others.  Yet  he  cannot  deny 
that  some  plays  are  moral,  such  as  "Catiline's  Conspiracy," — 
"  because,"  as  ho  elegantly  observes,  "  it  is  said  to  be  a  pig  of 
mine  own  sow."  This,  and  one  or  two  other  plays  written  by 
him,  he  complaisantly  designates  as  "  good  plays,  and  sweet  plays, 
and  of  all  plays  the  best  plays,  and  most  to  be  liked." 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  year  of  Shakspeare's  birth.  The 
great  poet  came  into  the  world  when  the  English  portion  of  it 
was  deafened  with  the  thunder  of  Archbishop  Grindal,  who  flung 
his  bolts  against  the  profession  Avhich  the  child  in  his  cradle  at 
Stratford  was  about  to  ennoble  forever.  England  had  been  de- 
vastated by  the  plague  of  1563.  Grindal  illogically  traced  the 
rise  of  the  pestilence  to  the  theatres ;  and  to  check  the  evil,  he 
^^ounselled  Cecil  to  suppress  the  vocation  of  the  idle,  infamous,  youth- 
infecting  players,  as  the  prelate  called  them,  for  one  whole  year, 
and — "if  it  were  forever,"  adds  the  primate,  "it  were  not  amiss." 

Elizabeth's  face  shone  upon  the  actors,  and  rehearsals  went 
actively  on  before  the  Master  of  the  Revels.  The  numbers  of  the 
players,  however,  so  increased  and  spread  over  the  kingdom,  that 


22  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  government,  when  Shakspeare  was  eight  years  of  age,  enacte 
that  startling  statute  which  is  supposed  to  have  branded  dramatic 
art  and  artists  with  infamy.  But  the  celebrated  statute  of  1572 
does  not  declare  players  to  be  "  rogues  and  vagabonds."  It 
simply  threatens  to  treat  as  such,  all  acting  companies  who  pre- 
sume to  set  up  their  stage  ivithout  the  license  of  "  two  justices  of 
the  peace  at  least."  This  was  rather  to  protect  the  art  than  to 
insult  the  artists ;  and  a  few  years  subsequent  to  the  publication 
of  this  statute,  Elizabeth  granted  the  first  royal  patent  conceded 
in  England  to  actors — that  of  1576.  By  this  authority.  Lord 
Leicester's  servants  were  empowered  to  produce  such  plays  as 
seemed  good  to  them,  "as  well,"  says  the  Queen,  "for  the 
recreation  of  our  loving  subjects  as  for  our  solace  and  pleasure, 
when  we  shall  think  good  to  see  them."  Sovereign  could  scarcely 
pay  a  more  graceful  compliment  to  poet  or  to  actor. 

This  royal  patent  sanctioned  the  acting  of  plays  within  the 
liberties  of  the  city ;  but  against  this  the  city  magistrates  com- 
menced an  active  agitation.  Their  brethren  of  Middlesex  followed 
A  like  course  throughout  the  county.  The  players  were  treated 
as  the  devil's  missionaries ;  and  such  unsavory  terms  were  flung 
at  them  and  at  playwrights,  by  the  city  aldermen  and  the  county 
justices,  that  thereon  was  founded  that  animosity  which  led 
dramatic  authors  to  represent  citizens  and  justices  as  the  most 
egregious  of  fools,  the  most  arrant  of  knaves,  and  the  most  de- 
luded of  husbands. 

Driven  from  the  city,  Burbage  and  his  gay  brotherhood  were 
safe  in  the  shelter  of  Blackfriars,  adjacent  to  the  city  walls.  Safe, 
but  neither  welcome  nor  unmolested.  The  devout  and  noble 
ladies  who  had  long  resided  near  the  once  sacred  building, 
clamored  at  the  audacity  of  the  actors.  Divine  worship  and  ser- 
mon, so  they  averred,  would  be  grievously  disturbed  by  the  music 
and  rant  of  the  comedians,  and  by  the  deboshed  companions  re- 
sorting to  witness  those  abominable  plays  and  interludes. 

Tliis  cry  was  slii-ill  and  incessant,  but  it  was  unsuccessful.  The 
Blackfriars'  was  patronized  by  a  public  whose  favors  were  also 
solicited  by  those  "sumptuous  houses,"  the  "Theatre"  and  the 
"  Curtain"  in  Shoreditch.  Pulpit  logicians  reasoned,  more  heed- 
less of  connection  between  premises  and  conclusion  than  GrindaJ 


PROLOGUE.  23 

or  Gosson.  "  The  cause  of  plagues  is  sin,"  argues  one,  "  and  the 
cause  of  sin  are  plays ;  therefore,  the  cause  of  plagues  are  plays." 
Again :  "  If  these  be  not  suppressed,"  exclaims  a  Paul's  Cross 
preacher,  "  it  will  make  sui-h  a  tragedy  that  all  London  may  well 
mourn  while  it  is  London."  Bat  for  the  sympathy  of  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  it  would  have  gone  ill  with  these  players.  He  has  been 
as  ill-requited  by  authors  and  actors  as  their  earlier  friend,  Richard 
of  Gloucester.  To  this  day,  the  stage  exhibits  the  great  earl, 
according  to  the  legend  contrived  by  his  foes,  as  the  murderer  of 
his  wife. 

Sanctioned  by  the  court,  befriended  by  the  noble,  and  followed 
by  the  general  public,  the  players  stood  their  ground ;  but  they 
lacked  the  discretion  which  should  have  distinguished  them.  They 
bearded  authority,  played  in  despite  of  legal  prohibitions,  and 
introduced  forbidden  subjects  of  state  and  religion  upon  their 
stage.  Thence  ensued  suspensions  for  indefinite  periods,  severe 
supervision  when  the  suspension  was  rescinded,  and  renewed 
transgression  on  the  part  of  the  reckless  companies,  even  to  the 
playing  on  a  Sunday,  in  any  locality  where  they  conjectured  there 
was  small  likelihood  of  their  being  followed  by  a  warrant. 

But  the  most  costly  of  the  theatrical  revels  of  King  James  took 
place  at  Whitehall,  at  Greenwich,  or  at  Hampton  Court,  on  Sun- 
day evenings — an  unseemly  practice,  which  embittered  the  hatred 
of  the  Puritans  against  the  stage,  all  belonging  to  it,  and  all  who 
patronized  it.  James  was  wiser  when  he  licensed  Kirkham,  Haw- 
kins, Kendall,  and  Payne,  to  train  the  queen's  children  of  the 
revels,  and  to  exercise  them  in  playing  within  the  Blackfriars'  or 
elsewhere,  all  plays  which  had  the  sanction  of  old  Samuel  Danyell. 
His  queen,  Anne,  was  both  actress  and  manager  in  the  masques 
performed  at  court,  the  expenses  of  which  often  exceeded,  indeed 
/were  ordered  not  to  be  hmited  to  £1,000.  "  Excellent  comedies" 
were  played  before  Prince  Henry  and  the  Prince  Palgrave,  at 
Cambridge ;  and  the  members  of  St.  John's,  Clare,  and  Trinity, 
acted  before  the  king  and  court,  in  1615,  when  the  illustrious 
guests  were  scattered  among  the  colleges,  and  twenty-six  tuns  of 
wine  consumed  within  five  days  1 

ITie  lawyers  alone  were  off"ended  at  the  visits  of  the  court  to 
the  amateurs  at  Cambridge,  especially  when  James  went  thither 


24  DORAN'S   ANNALS   OF   THE    STAGE. 

to  sec  the  comedy  of  "  Ignoramus,"  in  which  law  and  lawyers  are 
treated  with  small  measure  of  respect.  When  James  was  pre- 
vented from  going  to  Cambridge,  he  was  accustomed  to  send  for 
the  whole  scholastic  company  to  appear  before  him,  in  one  of  the 
choicest  of  their  pieces,  at  Royston.  Roving  troops  wore  licensed 
by  this  play-loving  king  to  follow  their  vocation  in  stated  places 
in  the  country,  under  certain  restrictions  for  their  tarrying  and 
wending — a  fortnight's  residence  in  one  town  being  the  time 
limited,  with  injunction  not  to  play  "  during  church  hours." 

Then  there  were  unlicensed  satirical  plays  in  unlicensed  houses. 
Sir  John  Yorke,  his  wife  and  brothers,  were  fined  and  inipi'isoned, 
because  of  a  scandalous  play  acted,  in  Sir  John's  house,  in  favor 
of  Popery.  On  another  occasion,  in  1617,  we  hear  of  a  play,  in 
some  country  mansion,  in  which  the  king,  represented  as  a  hunts- 
man, observed  that  he  had  rather  hear  a  dog  bark  than  a  cannon 
roar.  Two  kinsmen,  named  Napleton,  discussed  this  matter, 
whereupon  one  of  them  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  the  king,  so 
well  represented,  ever  came  to  the  crown  of  England  at  all,  for  he 
loved  his  dogs  better  than  his  subjects.  Whereupon  the  listener 
to  this  remark  went  and  laid  information  before  the  council  against 
the  kinsman  who  had  uttered  it ! 

The  players  could,  in  James's  reign,  boast  that  their  profession 
was  at  least  kindly  looked  upon  by  the  foremost  man  in  the 
English  Church.  "  No  man,"  says  Ilacket,  "  was  more  wise  or 
more  serious  than  Archbishop  Bancroft,  the  atlas  of  our  clergy,  in 
his  time ;  and  he  that  writes  this  hath  seen  an  interlude  well 
presented  before  him,  at  Lamleth,  by  his  own  gentlemen,  when  I 
was  one  of  the  youngest  spectators,"  The  actors  thus  had  the 
sanction  of  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  in  James's  reign,  as 
they  bad  that  of  Williams,  Archbishop  of  York,  in  the  next. 
Ilacket  often  alludes  to  theatrical  matters,  "  The  theatres,"  lie 
says,  in  one  of  his  discourses  made  during  the  reign  of  diaries  II., 
when  the  preacher  was  Bishop  of  Lichfield  and  Coventry, — "  are 
not  large  enough  now-a-days  to  receive  our  loose  gallants,  male 
and  female,  but  whole  fields  and  parks  are  thronged  with  their 
concourse,  where  they  make  a  muster  of  their  gay  clothes." 
Meanwhile,  in  1616,  the  pulpit  once  more  issued  anathemas  against 
the  stage.     The  denouncer,  on  this  occasion,  was  the  preaclier  oi 


PROLOGUE,  25 

St.  Mary  Overy's,  named  Sutton,  wliose  uiuliscriuiinatino^  consurc 
was  boldly,  if  not  logically,  answered  by  the  actor,  Field.  There 
is  a  letter  from  the  latter  in  the  State  Paper  Office,  in  which  he 
remonstrates  against  the  sweeping  condemnation  of  all  players. 
The  comedian  admits  that  what  he  calls  his  trade  has  its  corrnp- 
tions,  like  other  ti'ades  ;  but  he  adds,  that  since  it  is  patr<:)nized  bv 
the  king,  there  is  disloyalt}^  in  preaching  against  it,  and  he  hints 
that  the  theology  of  the  preacher  must  be  a  little  out  of  gear,  see- 
ing that  he  openly  denounces  a  vocation  Avhich  is  not  condemned 
in  Scripture ! 

Field,  the  champion  of  his  craft  in  the  early  part  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  was  one  of  the  dozen  actors  to  whom  King  James, 
in  1619,  granted  a  license  to  act  comedy,  tragedy,  history,  etc., 
for  the  solace  and  pleasure  of  his  Majesty  and  his  subjects,  at  the 
Globe,  and  at  their  private  house  in  the  precincts  of  Blackfriars. 
This  license  was  made  out  to  Hemings,  Burbage,  Condell,  Lowen, 
Tooley,  Underwood,  Field,  Benfield,  Gough,  Eccleston,  Robinson, 
Shancks,  and  their  associates.  Their  success  rendered  them 
audacious,  and,  in  1624,  they  got  into  trouble,  on  a  complaint  of 
the  Spanish  Ambassador.  The  actors  at  the  Globe  had  produced 
Middleton's  "  Game  at  Chess,"  in  which  the  action  is  carried  on 
by  black  and  white  pieces,  representing  the  Reformed  and  Roman- 
ist parties.  The  latter,  being  the  rogues  of  the  piece,  are  foiled, 
and  are  "  put  in  the  bag."  The  Spanish  envoy's  complaint  w;is 
founded  on  the  fact  that  living  persons  were  represented  by  the 
actors,  such  persons  being  the  King  of  Spain,  Gondomar,  and  the 
famous  Antonio  de  Dominis,  who,  after  being  a  Romish  bishop 
(of  Spaiatro),  professed  Protestantism,  became  Dean  of  Windsor, 
and  after  all  died  in  his  earlier  faith,  at  Rome.  On  the  ambassa- 
dor's complaint,  the  actors  and  the  author  were  summoned  before 
the  council,  but  no  immediate  result  followed,  for,  two  days  later, 
Ncthercole  writes  to  Carleton,  informing  him  that  "  the  comedy  in 
which  the  whole  Spanish  business  is  taken  up,  is  drawing  £100 
nightly."  At  that  time,  a  house  with  £20  in  it  was  accounted  a 
"  good  house,"  at  either  the  Globe  or  Blackfriars.  Receipts 
amounting  to  five  times  that  sum,  for  nine  afternoons  successively, 
may  be  accepted  as  a  proof  of  the  popularity  of  this  play.  The 
Spaniard,  however,  would  not  let  the  matter  rest ;  the  play  waa 
Vol..  I.— 2 


26  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

suppressed,  the  actors  forbidden  to  represent  living  personages  on 
the  stage,  and  the  author  was  sent  to  prison.  Middleton  was  not 
long  detained  in  durance  vile.  James  set  him  free,  instigated  by 
a  quip  in  a  poor  epigram, — 

"  Rise  but  your  royal  liand,  'twill  set  me  free  1 
'Tis  but  the  '  moving  of  a  man' — that's  me." 

A  worse  joke  never  secured  for  its  author  a  greater  boon — that  of 
liberty. 

With  all  this,  an  incident  of  the  following  year  proves  that  the 
playei's  disregarded  peril,  and  found  profit  in  excitement.  For 
Shrovetide,  1625,  they  announced  a  play  founded  on  the  Dutch 
horrors  at  Amboyna,  but  the  performance  was  stopped,  on  the 
application  of  the  East  India  Company,  "  for  fear  of  disturbances 
this  Shrovetide."  A  watch  of  800  men  was  set  to  keep  all  quiet 
on  Shrove  Tuesday ;  and  the  subject  was  not  again  selected  for  a 
piece  till  1673,  when  Dryden's  "Amboyna"  was  produced  in 
Drury  Lane,  and  the  cruelties  of  the  Dutch  condemned  in  a  serio- 
comic fashion,  as  those  of  a  people — so  the  epilogue  intimated  to 
the  public — "who  have  no  moi-e  religion,  faith — than  you." 

In  James's  days,  the  greater  or  less  prevalence  of  the  plague 
regulated  the  licenses  for  playing.  .Thus,  permission  was  given  to 
the  Queen's  Servants  to  act  "  in  their  several  houses,  the  Curtain, 
and  the  Boar's  Head,  Middlesex,  as  soon  as  the  plague  decreases 
to  30  a  week,  in  London."  So,  in  the  very  first  year  of  Charles  I., 
1625,  the  "common  players"  have  leave  not  only  to  act  where 
they  will,  but  "to  come  to  court,  now  the  plague  is  reduced  to 
six.''  Accordingly,  there  was  a  merry  Christmas  season  at  Hamp- 
ton Court,  the  actors  being  there ;  and,  writes  Rudyard  to  Nether- 
cole,  "the  demoiselles'''  (maids  of  honor,  doubtless),  "mean  to 
present  a  French  pastoral,  wherein  the  Queen  is  a  principal  actress." 
Thus,  the  example  set  by  the  late  Queen  Anne  and  now  adopted 
by  Henrietta  Maria,  led  to  the  introduction  of  actresses  on  the 
public  stage,  and  it  was  the  manifestation  of  a  taste  for  actitig  ex- 
hibited by  the  French  princess,  that  led  to  the  appearance  in 
London  of  actresses  of  that  nation. 

With  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  new  hopes  came  to  the  poor  player, 
but  therewith  came  new  adversaries.     Charles  I.  was  a  hearty  pro 


PROLOGUE.  27 

moter  of  all  sports  and  pleasures,  provided  his  people  would  be 
merr)-  and  wise  according  to  his  prescription  only.  Wakes  and 
maypoles  were  authorized  by  him,  to  the  infinite  disgust  of  the 
Puritans,  who  liked  the  authorization  no  more  than  they  did  the 
suppression  of  lectures.  When  Charles  repaired  to  Church,  where 
the  Booh  of  Sports  was  read,  he  was  exposed  to  the  chance  of 
liearing  the  minister,  after  reading  the  decree  as  he  was  ordered, 
calmly  go  through  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  then  tell  hia 
hearers,  that  having  listened  to  the  commands  of  God  and  those  of 
man,  they  might  now  follow  which  they  liked  best. 

When  Bishop  Williams,  of  Lincoln,  and  subsequently  Arch 
bishop  of  York,  held  a  living,  he  pleaded  in  behalf  of  the  right  of 
his  Northamptonshire  parishioners  to  dance  round  the  maypole 
When  ordered  to  deliver  up  the  Great  Seal  by  the  King,  he  re- 
tired to  his  episcopal  palace  at  Buckden,  Avhere,  says  Hacket,  "  he 
was  the  worse  thought  of  by  some  strict  censurers,  because  he  ad- 
mitted in  his  public  hall  a  comedy  once  or  twice  to  be  presented 
before  him,  exhibited  by  his  own  servants,  for  an  evening  recrea- 
tion." Being  then  in  disgrace,  this  simple  matter  was  exaggerated 
by  his  enemies  into  a  report,  that  on  an  Ordination  Sunday,  this 
arrogant  Welshman  had  entertained  his  newly-ordained  clergy  with 
a  representation  of  Shakspeare's  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream," 
the  actors  in  which  had  been  expressly  brought  down  from  London 
for  the  purpose  I 

Li  the  troubled  days  in  which  King  Charles  and  Bishop  Williams 
lived,  the  stage  suffered  with  the  throne  and  church.  After  this 
time  the  names  of  the  old  houses  cease  to  be  familiar.  Let  us 
take  a  parting  glance  of  these  primitive  temples  of  our  drama. 

The  royal  theatre,  Blackfriars,  was  the  most  nobly  patronized 
of  all  the  houses  opened  previous  to  the  Restoration.  The  grown- 
up actors  were  the  most  skilled  of  their  craft;  and  the  boys,  or 
apprentices,  were  the  most  fair  and  effeminate  that  could  be  pro- 
cured, and  could  profit  by  instruction.  On  this  stage  Shakspeare 
enacted  the  Ghost  in  "  Hamlet,"  Old  Adam,  and  a  similar  line  of 
characters,  usually  intrusted  to  the  ablest  of  the  performers  of  the 
second  class.  Blackfiiars  was  a  winter  house.  Some  idea  of  its 
capability  and  pretension  may  be  formed  from  the  fact,  that  in 
1633,  its  proprietors,  the  brothers  Burbage,  let  it  to  the  actors  for 


28  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

a  yearly  rent  of  £50.  In  1655  it  was  pulled  down,  after  a  success- 
ful career  of  about  three-quarters  of  a  century. 

Upon  the  strip  of  shore,  between  Fleet  Street  and  the  Thames, 
there  have  been  erected  three  theatres.  In  the  year  1580,  the  old 
monastery  of  Whitcfriars  was  given  up  to  a  company  of  players ; 
but  the  Whitefriars'  Theatre  did  not  enjoy  a  very  lengthened 
career.  In  the  year  1016,  that  in  which  Shakspeare  died,  it  had 
already  fallen  into  disrepute  and  decay,  and  was  never  afterwards 
used  for  the  representation  of  dramatic  pieces.  The  other  theatres, 
in  Dorset  Gardens,  were  built  subsequently  to  the  Restoration. 

In  the  parish  of  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate,  and  in  the  street  now 
called  Playhouse  Yard,  conaccting  Whitecross  Street  with  Golding 
Lane,  stood  the  old  Fortune,  erected  in  1600,  for  Ilenslowe  (the 
pawnbroker  and  money-lender  to  actors)  and  AUeyn,  the  most 
unselfish  of  comedians.  It  was  a  wooden  tenement,  which  was 
burned  down  in  1621,  and  replaced  by  a  circular  brick  edifice.  In 
1649,  two  years  after  the  suppression  of  plays  by  the  Puritan  Act, 
when  the  house  was  closed,  a  party  of  soldiers,  "  the  sectaries  of 
those  yeasty  times,"  broke  into  the  edifice,  destroyed  its  interior 
fittings,  and  pulled  down  the  building.  The  site  and  adjacent 
ground  were  soon  covered  by  dwelling-houses. 

Meanw^hile,  the  inn  yards,  or  great  rooms  at  the  inns,  were  not 
yet  quite  superseded.  The  Cross  Keys  in  Grace-church  Street, 
the  Bull  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  near  which  lived  Anthony  Bacon, 
to  the  extreme  dislike  of  his  grandmother  ;  and  the  Red  Bull,  in 
St,  John  Street,  Clerkenwell,  which  last  existed  as  late  as  the 
period  of  the  Great  Fire,  were  open,  if  not  for  the  acting  of  plays, 
at  least  for  exhibitions  of  fencing  and  wrestling. 

The  Surrey  side  of  the  Thames  was  a  favorite  locality  for 
plays,  long  before  the  most  famous  of  the  regular  and  royally- 
sanctioned  theatres.  The  Globe  was  on  that  old,  joyous  Bank- 
side ;  and  the  Little  Rose,  in  1584,  there  succeeded  to  an  elder 
structure  of  the  same  name,  whose  memory  is  still  preserved  in 
Rose  Aliey.  The  Globe,  the  summer-house  of  Shakspeare  and 
his  fellows,  flourished  from  1594  to  1613,  when  it  fell  a  prey  to 
the  flames  caused  by  the  wailding  of  a  gun,  which  lodged  in  and 
set  fire  to  the  thatched  roof.  The  new  house,  erected  by  a  royal 
and  noble  subscription,  was  of  wood,  but  it  was  tiled.     Its  career, 


PROLOQUE.  29 

howevor,  was  not  veiy  extended,  for  in  1654,  the  owner  of  the 
freehold,  Sir  Matthew  Brand,  pulled  the  house  down  ;  and  the 
name  of  Globe  Alley  is  all  that  is  left  to  point  out  the  whereabout 
of  the  popular  summer-house  in  Southwark. 

On  the  same  bank  of  the  great  river  stood  the  Hope,  a  playhouse 
four  times  a  week,  and  a  garden  for  bear-baiting  on  the  alternate 
days.  In  the  former  was  first  played  Jonson's  "  Bartholomew 
Fair."  When  plays  were  suppressed,  the  zealous  and  orthodox 
soldiery  broke  into  the  Hope,  horsewhipped  the  actors,  and  shot 
the  bears.  This  place,  however,  in  its  character  of  Bear  Garden, 
rallied  after  the  Restoration,  and  continued  prosperous  till  nearly 
the  close  of  the  l7th  century.  There  remains  to  be  noticed,  Paris 
Garden,  famous  for  its  cruel  but  well-patronized  sports.  Its  popu- 
lar circus  was  converted  by  Henslowe  and  AUeyn  into  a  theatre. 
Here,  the  richest  receipts  were  m^de  on  the  Sunday,  till  the  law 
interfered  and  put  down  these  performances,  the  dear  delight  of 
the  Southwarkians  and  their  visitors  from  the  opposite  shore,  of 
the  olden  time. 

The  supposed  assertion  of  Taylor,  the  Water  poet,  has  often 
been  quoted,  namely,  that  between  Windsor  bridge  and  Gravesend 
there  were  not  less  than  40,000  watermen,  and  that  more  than 
half  of  these  found  employment  in  transporting  the  holiday  folks 
from  the  Middlesex  to  the  Southwark  shore  of  the  river,  where 
the  players  were  strutting  their  little  hour  at  the  Globe^  the  Rose, 
and  the  Swan,  and  Bruin  was  being  bated  in  the  adjacent  gardens. 
A  misprint  has  decupled  what  was  about  the  true  number,  and 
even  of  these  many  were  so  unskilful  that  an  Act  was  passed  in 
the  very  first  year  of  King  James,  for  the  protection  of  persons 
afloat,  whether  on  pleasure  or  serious  business. 

In  Holywell  Lane,  near  High  Street,  Shoreditch,  is  the  site  of 
an  old  wooden  structure,  which  bore  the  distinctive  name  of  "  The 
Theatre,"  and  was  accounted  a  sumptuous  house,  probably  because 
of  the  partial  introduction  of  scenery  there.  In  the  early  part  of 
Shakspeare's  career,  as  author  and  actor,  it  was  closed,  in  conse- 
quence of  proprietary  disputes  ;  and  with  the  materials  the  Globe, 
at  Bankside,  was  rebuilt  or  considerably  enlarged.  There  was  a 
second  theatre  in  this  district  called  "  The  Curtain,"  a  name  still 
retained  in  Curtain  road.     This  house  remained  open  and  success- 


30  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ful,  till  the  accession  of  Charles  I.,  subsequent  to  which  time  stage 
plays  gave  way  to  exhibitions  of  athletic  exercises. 

This  district  was  especially  dramatic;  the  popular  taste  was  not 
only  there  directed  towards  the  stage,  but  it  was  a  district  wherein 
many  actors  dwelt,  and  consequently  died.  The  baptismal  regis* 
ter  of  St.  Leonard's  contains  Christian  names  which  appear  to 
iiave  been  chosen  with  reference  to  the  heroines  of  Shakspeare 
a. id  the  record  of  burials  bears  the  name  of  many  an  old  actor  of 
mark  whose  remains  now  lie  within  the  churchyard. 

Not  a  vestige,  of  course,  exists  of  any  of  these  theatres ;  and 
yet  of  a  much  older  house,  traces  may  be  seen  by  those  who  will 
seek  them  in  remote  Cornwall. 

This  relic  of  antiquity  is  called  Piran  Round.  It  consists  of  a 
circular  embankment,  about  ten  feet  high,  sloping  backwards,  and 
cut  into  steps  for  seats,  or  standing-places.  This  embankment 
encloses  a  level  area  of  grassy  ground,  and  stands  in  the  middle  of 
a  flat,  wild  heath.  A  couple  of  thousand  spectators  could  look 
down  from  the  seats  upon  the  grassy  circus  which  formed  a  stage 
of  more  than  a  hundred  feet  in  diameter.  Here,  in  very  early 
times,  sports  were  played  and  combats  fought  out,  and  rustic  coun- 
cils assembled.  The  ancient  Cornish  Mysteries  here  drew  tears 
and  laughter  from  the  mixed  audiences  of  the  day.  They  were 
popular  as  late  as  the  period  of  Shakspeare.  Of  one  of  them, 
a  five-act  piece,  entitled  "  The  Creation  of  the  World,  with  Noah's 
Flood,"  the  learned  Davies  Gilbert  has  given  a  translation.  In 
this  historical  piece,  played  for  edification  in  Scripture  history,  the 
stage  directions  speak  of  varied  costumes,  variety  of  scenery,  and 
complicated  machinery,  all  on  an  open-air  stage,  whereon  the 
deluge  was  to  roll  its  billows,  and  the  mimic  world  be  lost.  This 
cataclysm  achieved,  the  depressed  spectators  were  rendered  merry. 
The  minstrels  piped,  the  audience  rose  and  footed  it,  and  then, 
having  had  their  full  of  amusement,  they  who  had  converged, 
from  so  many  starting-points,  upon  Piran  Round,  scattered  again 
on  their  several  ways  homeward  from  the  ancient  theatre,  and,  as 
the  sun  went  down,  thinned  away  over  the  heath,  the  fishermen 
going  seaward,  the  miners  inland,  and  the  agricultural  laborers  to 
the  cottages  and  farmhouses  which  dotted,  here  and  there,  the 
otherwise  dreary  moor. 


FilOLOGUS  81 

Such  is  Piran  Round  described  to  have  been,  and  the  "  old 
house"  is  worthy  of  tender  preservation,  for  it  once  saved  Eng- 
land from  invasion!  About  the  year  1600,  "some  strollers,"  as 
they  are  called  in  Somer's  Tracts,  were  playing  late  at  night  at 
Piran.  At  the  same  time  a  party  of  Spaniards  had  landed  with 
the  intention  of  surprising,  plundering,  and  burning  the  village. 
As  the  enemy  were  silently  on  their  way  to  this  consummation, 
the  players,  who  were  representing  a  battle,  "  struck  up  a  loud 
alarum  with  drum  and  trumpet  on  the  stage,  which  the  enemy 
hearing,  thought  they  were  discovered,  made  some  few  idle  shots, 
and  so  in  a  hurly-burly  fled  to  their  boats.  And  thus  the  towns- 
men were  apprised  of  their  danger,  and  delivered  from  it  at  the 
same  time." 

Thus  the  players  rescued  the  kingdom  !  Their  sons  and  suc- 
cessors were  not  so  happy  in  rescuing  their  King ;  but  the  power- 
fill  enemies  of  each  suppressed  both  real  and  mimic  king?.  How 
they  dealt  with  the  monarchs  of  the  stage,  our  prologue  at  an  end, 
remains  to  be  told. 


S2  DOJiA^■'s   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  DECLINE   AND  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS. 

It  was  in  the  eventful  year  1587,  while  Roman  Catholics  were 
deploring  the  death  of  Mary  Stuart;  while  Englishmen  were  exult- 
ing at  the  destruction  dealt  by  Drake  to  a  hundred  Spanisli  sliips 
in  the  port  of  Cadiz ;  while  the  Puritan  party  was  at  angry  issue 
with  Elizabeth ;  while  John  Fox  was  lying  dead,  and  while  Wal- 
singham  was  actively  impeding  the  ways  and  means  of  Armada 
Philip,  by  getting  his  bills  protested  at  Genoa, — that  the  little 
man,  Gosson,  in  the  parish  of  St.  Botolph,  of  which  he  was  the 
incumbent,  first  nibbed  his  pen,  and  made  it  fly  furiously  over 
paper,  in  wordy  war  against  the  stage  and  stage-players. 

When  the  Britons  ate  acorns  and  drank  water,  he  says,  they 
were  giants  and  heroes ;  but  since  plays  came  in  they  had  dwin- 
dled into  a  puny  race,  incapable  of  noble  and  patriotic  achievements ! 
And  yet  next  year,  some  pretty  fellows  of  that  race  were  sweeping 
the  Invincible  Armada  from  tlie  surface  of  our  seas  ! 

When  London  was  talking  admiringly  of  the  coronation  of 
Charles  L,  and  Parliament  was  barely  accortling  him  one  pound 
in  twelve  of  the  money-aids  of  which  he  was  in  need,  there  was 
another  pamphleteer  sending  up  his  testimony  from  Cheapside  to 
Westminster,  against  the  alleged  abomination  of  plays  and  players. 
This  writer  entitles  his  work  A  short  Treatise  against  Stage  Plays, 
and  he  makes  it  as  sharp  as  it  is  short.  Plays  were  invented  by 
heathens ;  they  must  necessarily  be  prejudicial  to  Christians  ! — that 
is  the  style  of  his  assertion  and  argument.  They  were  invented  in 
order  to  appease  false  gods ;  consequently,  the  playing  of  them 
must  excite  to  wrath  a  true  TJeity  !  They  arc  no  recreation,  be- 
cause people  come  away  from  them  wearied.  The  argument,  in 
tragedy,  he  informs  us,  is  murder ;  in  comedy,  it  is  social  vice. 
This  he  designates  as  bad  instruction ;  and  remembering  Field's 
query  to  Sutton,  he  would  very  much  like  to  know  in  what  page 


THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS.     83 

of  Holy  Writ  authority  is  given  for  the  vocation  of  an  actor,  lie 
might  as  well  have  asked  for  the  suppression  of  tailors,  on  the 
ground  of  their  never  being  once  named  in  either  the  Old  Testa- 
ment or  the  New ! 

But  this  author  finds  condemnation  there,  of  "  stage  effects," 
rehearsed  or  unrehearsed.  You  deal  with  the  judgments  of  God 
in  tragedy,  and  laugh  over  the  sins  of  men  in  comedy ;  and  there- 
upon he  reminds  you,  and  not  very  appositely,  that  Ham  was 
accursed  for  deriding  his  father !  Players  change  their  apparel 
and  put  on  women's  attire, — as  if  they  had  never  read  a  chapter 
in  Deuteronomy,  in  their  lives !  If  coming  on  the  stage  under  false 
representation  of  their  natural  names  and  persons  be  not  an  offence 
against  the  Epistle  to  Timothy,  he  would  thank  j'ou  to  inform 
him  what  it  is !  As  to  looking  on  these  pleasant  evils  and  not 
falling  into  sin, — j^ou  have  heard  of  Job  and  King  David,  and  you 
are  worse  than  a  heathen  if  you  do  not  remember  what  they  looked 
upon  with  innocent  intent,  or  if  you  have  forgotten  what  came  of 
the  looking. 

He  reminds  parents,  that  while  they  are  at  the  play,  there  are 
wooers  who  are  carrying  oft"  the  hearts  of  their  daughters  at  home  ; 
perhaps  the  very  daughteis  themselves  from  home.  This  seems 
to  me  to  be  less  an  argument  against  resorting  to  the  theatre  than 
in  favor  of  your  taking  places  for  your  "  young  ladies,"  as  well  as 
for  yourselves.  The  writer  looks  too  wide  abroad  to  see  what 
lies  at  his  feet.  He  is  in  Asia,  citing  the  Council  of  Laodicea 
against  the  theatre.  He  is  in  Africa,  vociferating,  as  the  Council 
of  Carthage  did,  against  audiences.  He  is  in  Europe,  at  Aries, 
where  the  Fathers  decided  that  no  actor  should  be  admitted  to  the 
sacrament.  Finally,  he  unites  all  these  Councils  together  at  Con- 
stantinople, and  in  a  three-piled  judgment  sends  stage,  actors  and 
audiences  to  Gehenna. 

If  you  would  only  remember  that  many  royal  and  noble  men 
liave  been  slain  when  in  the  theatre,  on  their  way  thither,  or  re- 
turning thence,  you  will  have  a  decent  horror  of  risking  a  similar 
fate  in  like  localities.  He  has  known  actors  Avho  have  died  after 
the  play  was  over ;  he  would  fain  have  you  believe  that  there  is 
something  in  that.  And  when  he  has  intimated  that  theatres  have 
been  burnt  and  audiences  suffocated ;  that  stages  have  been  swept 


34  doran's  annals  of  tue  stage, 

down  by  storms  and  spectators  trodden  to  death  ;  tbat  less  than 
forty  years  previous  to  tlic  time  of  his  writing,  eight  persons  had 
been  killed  and  many  more  wounded,  by  the  fall  of  a  London 
playhouse  ;  and  that  a  similar  calamity  had  lately  occurred  in  the 
city  of  Lyons, — the  writer  conceives  he  has  advanced  sufficient 
ai-gument,  and  administered  more  than  enough  of  admonition  to 
deter  any  person  from  entering  a  theatre  henceforth  and  forever. 

This  paper  pellet  had  not  long  been  printed,  when  the  vexed 
author  might  have  seen  four  actors  sailing  joyously  along  the 
Strand.  There  they  are,  Mastei*  Moore  (there  were  no  managers 
then ;  they  were  "  masters  "  till  the  Georgian  era),  Master  Moore, 
heavy  Foster,  mirthful  Guilman,  and  aiiy  Townsend.  The  master 
carries  in  his  pocket  a  royal  license  to  form  a  company,  whose 
members,  in  honor  of  the  King's  sister,  shall  be  known  as  "the 
Lady  Elizabeth's  servants ;"  with  permission  to  act  when  and 
where  they  please,  in  and  about  the  city  of  London,  unless  when 
the  plague  shall  be  more  than  ordinarily  prevalent. 

There  was  no  present  opportunity  to  touch  these  licensed  com- 
panies ;  and,  accordingly,  a  sect  of  men  who  professed  to  unite 
loyalty  with  orthodoxy,  looking  eagerly  about  them  for  offenders, 
detected  an  unlicensed  fraternity  playing  a  comedy  in  the  old 
house,  before  noticed,  of  Sir  John  Yorke.  The  result  of  this  was 
the  assembling  of  a  nervously-agitated  troop  of  offenders  in  the  Star 
Chamber.  One  Christopher  Mallory  was  made  the  scapegoat,  for 
the  satisfactory  reason  that  in  the  comedy  alluded  to  he  had  rep- 
resented the  devil,  and  in  the  last  scene  descended  through  the 
stage,  with  a  figure  of  King  James  on  his  back,  remarking  the 
while,  that  such  was  the  road  by  which  all  Protestants  must 
necessarily  travel !  Poor  Mallory,  condemned  to  fine  and  impris- 
onment, vainly  observed  that  there  were  two  points,  he  thought, 
in  his  favor — that  he  had  not  played  in  the  piece,  and  had  n«i 
been  even  present  in  the  house ! 

Meanwhile  the  public  flocked  to  their  favorite  houses,  and  for- 
tune seemed  to  be  most  blandly  smiling  on  "  masters,"  when  there 
suddenly  appeared  the  monster  mortar  manufactured  by  Prynne, 
and  discharged  by  him  over  London,  with  an  attendant  amount 
of  thunder,  which  shook  every  building  in  the  metropolis.  Prynne 
had  just  previously  seen  the  painters  busily  at  work  in  beautifying 


THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS.     35 

the  old  "  Fortune,"  and  the  decorators  gilding  the  horns  of  the 
"  Red  Bull."  lie  had  been  down  to  AVhitefriars,  and  had  there 
beheld  a  new  theatre  rising  near  the  old  time-honored  site.  He 
was  unable  to  be  longer  silent,  and  in  1633  out  came  his  Histrio- 
Mastix,  consisting,  from  title-page  to  finis,  of  a  thousand  and 
several  hundred  pages. 

Prynne,  in  some  sense,  did  not  lead  opinion  against  the  stage, 
but  followed  that  of  individuals  who  suffered  certain  discomfort 
fi'om  their  vicinity  to  the  chief  house  in  Blackfriars.  In  1631, 
the  churchwardens  and  constables  petitioned  Laud,  on  behalf  of 
the  whole  parish,  for  the  removal  of  the  players,  whose  presence 
was  a  grievance,  it  was  asserted,  to  Blackfriars  generally.  The 
shopkeepers  affirm  that  their  goods,  exposed  to  sale,  are  swept  off 
their  stalls  by  the  coaches  and  people  sweeping  onward  to  the 
playhouse ;  that  the  concourse  is  so  great,  the  inhabitants  are 
unable  to  take  beer  or  coal  into  their  houses  while  it  continues; 
that  to  get  through  Ludgate  to  the  water  is  just  impossible ;  and 
if  a  fire  break  out.  Heaven  help  them,  how  can  succor  be  brought 
to  the  sufferers  through  such  mobs  of  men  and  vehicles  ?  Chris- 
tenings are  disturbed  in  their  joy  by  them,  and  the  sorrow  of 
burials  intruded  on.  Persons  of  honor  dare  not  go  abroad,  or  if 
abroad,  dare  not  venture  home  while  the  theatre  is  open.  And 
then  there  is  that  other  house,  Edward  Alleyn's,  rebuilding  in 
Golden  Lane,  and  will  not  the  Council  look  to  it? 

The  Council  answer  that  Queen  Henrietta  Maria  is  well  aflFected 
towards  plays,  and  that  therefore  good  regulation  is  more  to  be 
provided  than  suppression  decreed.  There  must  not  be  more 
than  two  houses,  they  say ;  one  on  Bankside,  where  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  servants  may  act ;  the  other  in  Middlesex,  for  which 
license  may  be  given  to  Alleyn,  "  servant  of  the  Lord  Admiral," 
in  Golden  Lane.  Each  company  is  to  play  but  twice  a  week. 
"  forbearing  to  play  on  the  Sabbath  Day,  in  Lent,  and  in  times  of 
infection." 

Here  is  a  prospect  for  old  Blackfriars ;  but  it  is  doomed  to  fall. 
The  house  had  been  condemned  in  1619,  and  cannot  longer  be 
tolerated.  But  compensation  must  be  awarded.  The  players, 
bold  fellows,  claim  £21,000!  The  referees  award  £3,000,  and 
the  delighted  inhabitants  offer  £100  towards  it,  to  get  rid  of  the 


36  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage, 

people  wlio  resort  to  the  players,  rather  than  of  the  players  them- 
selves. 

Then  spake  out  Pryune.  He  does  not  tell  us  how  many  Prayer- 
books  had  been  recently  published,  but  he  notes,  with  a  cry  of 
anguish,  the  printing  of  forty  thousand  plays  within  the  last  tAvo 
years.  "  There  are  five  devil's  chapels,"  he  says,  "  in  London ; 
and  yet  in  more  extensive  Rome,  in  Nero's  days,  there  were  but 
three,  and  those,"  he  adds,  "  were  three  too  many !"  When  the 
writer  gets  beyond  statistics  he  grows  rude ;  but  he  was  sincere, 
and  accepted  all  the  responsibility  of  the  course  taken  by  him, 
advisedly. 

While  the  anger  excited  by  this  attack  on  pastimes  favored  by 
the  King  was  yet  hot,  the  assault  itself  was  met  by  a  defiance. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  Inns  of  Court  closed  their  law-books,  got  up 
a  mask,  and  played  it  at  Whitehall,  in  the  presence  of  a  delighted 
audience,  consisting  of  royal  and  noble  personages.  The  most 
play-loving  of  the  lords  followed  the  example  aftbrded  by  the  law- 
yers, and  the  King  himself  assumed  the  buskin,  and  turned  actor, 
for  the  nonce.  Tom  Carew  was  busy  with  superintending  the 
rehearsals  of  his  "  Coelum  Britannicum,"  and  in  urging  honest  and 
melodious  Will  Lawes  to  progress  more  rapidly  with  the  music. 
Cavalier  Will  was  not  to  be  hurried,  but  did  his  work  steadily ; 
and  Prynne  might  have  heard  him  and  his  Brother  Harry  hum- 
ming the  airs  over  as  they  walked  together  across  the  park  to 
Whitehall.  When  the  day  of  representation  arrived,  great  was 
the  excitement  and  intense  the  delight  of  some,  and  the  scorn  of 
others.  Among  the  noble  actors  who  rode  down  to  the  palace 
was  Rich,  Earl  of  Holland.  All  passed  ofi"  so  pleasantly  that  no 
one  dreamed  it  was  the  inauguration  of  a  struggle  in  which  Pi-jnne 
was  to  lose  his  estate,  his  freedom,  and  his  ears ;  the  King  and  the 
earl  their  heads ;  while  gallant  Will  LaAves,  as  honest  a  man  as 
any  of  them,  was,  a  dozen  years  after,  to  be  found  among  the 
valiant  dead  who  fell  at  the  siege  of  Chester. 

Ere  this  denouement  to  a  tragedy  so  mirthfully  commenced  had 
been  reached,  there  were  other  defiances  cast  in  the  teeth  of  auda- 
cious, but  too  harshly-treated  Prynne.  There  was  a  reverend 
playwright  about  town,  whom  Eton  loved  and  Oxford  highly 
prized;  Ben  Jonson  called  him  his  " son,"  and  Bishop  Fell,  who 


THE  decline:  and  fall  of  the  players.         37 

presumed  to  give  an  opinion  on  subjects  of  which  he  was  ignorant, 
pronounced  the  Rev.  William  Caitwright  to  be  "the  utmost  that 
man  could  come  to !"  For  the  Christ  Church  students  at  Oxford, 
Cartwriglit  wrote  the  -"  Royal  Slave,"  one  of  three  out  of  his  four 
plays  which  sleep  under  a  righteous  oblivion.  The  King  and 
Queen  went  down  to  witness  the  performance  of  the  scholastic 
amateurs  ;  and,  considering  that  a  main  incident  of  the  piece  com- 
prises a  revolt  in  order  to  achieve  some  reasonable  liberty  for  an 
oppressed  people,  the  subject  may  be  considered  more  suggestive 
than  felicitous.  The  fortunes  of  many  of  the  audience  were  about 
to  undergo  mutation,  but  there  was  an  actor  there  whose  prosper- 
ity commenced  from  that  day.  All  the  actors  played  with  spirit, 
but  this  especial  one  manifested  such  self-possession,  displayed 
such  judgment,  and  exhibited  such  powers  of  conception  and  exe- 
cution, that  King,  Queen,  and  all  the  illustrious  audience  showered 
down  upon  him  applauses — hearty,  loud,  and  long.  His  name 
was  Busby.  He  had  been  so  poor  that  he  received  £5  to  enable 
him  to  take  his  degree  of  B.  A.  Westminster  was  soon  to  pos- 
sess him,  for  nearly  threescore  years,  the  most  famous  of  her 
"  masters."  "  A  very  great  man  !"  said  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley ; 
"  he  whipped  my  grandfather  !" 

When  Prynne,  and  Bastwick,  and  Burton — released  from  prison 
by  the  Long  Parliament — entered  London  in  triumph,  with 
wreaths  of  ivy  and  rosemary  round  their  hats,  the  players  who 
stood  on  the  causeway,  or  at  tavern  windows,  to  witness  the  pass- 
ing of  the  victims,  must  have  felt  uneasy  at  their  arch-enemy  being 
loose  again.  Between  politics,  perverse  parties,  the  plague,  and 
the  parliament,  the  condition  of  the  actors  fell  from  bad  to  worse. 
In  a  dialogue  which  professedly  passed  at  this  time  between  Cane 
of  the  "  Fortune"  and  Reed  of  the  "  Friers,"  one  of  the  speakers 
ileplores  the  going-out  of  all  good  old  things,  and  the  other,  sigh- 
ingly, remarks  that  true  Latin  is  as  little  in  f;ishion  at  Lins  of 
Court  as  good  clothes  are  at  Cambridge.  At  length  arrived  the 
fatal  year  1647,  when,  after  some  previous  attempts  to  abolish  the 
vocation  of  the  actors,  the  parliament  disbanded  the  army  and 
suppressed  the  players.  The  latter  struggled  manfully,  but  not  so 
successfully,  as  the  soldiery.  Tliey  were  treated  with  less  consider- 
ation ;  the  decree  of  Febrnarj^  1647,  informed  them  that  they  were 


38  doran's  annals  of  thet  stage. 

no  better  than  lieatliens;  that  they  were  intolerable  to  Christians; 
that  they  were  incorrigible  and  vicious  offenders,  who  would  now 
be  compelled  by  whip,  and  stocks,  and  gyves,  and  prison  fare,  to 
obey  ordinances  which  they  had  hitherto  treated  with  contempt. 
Had  not  the  glorious  Elizabeth  stigmatized  them  as  "  rogues,"  and 
the  sagacious  James  as  "  vagabonds  ?"  Mayors  and  sheriffs,  and 
high  and  low  constables  were  let  loose  upon  them,  and  encouraged 
to  be  merciless ;  menace  was  piled  upon  menace ;  money  penalties 
were  hinted  at  in  addition  to  borporeal  punishments — and,  after 
all,  plays  were  enacted  in  spite  of  this  counter-enactment. 

But  these  last  enactors  were  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  and  the 
autumn  saw  accomplished  what  had  not  been  effected  in  the 
spring.  The  Perfect  Weekly  Account  for  "  Wednesday,  Oct.  20, 
to  Tuesday,  Oct.  26,"  informs  its  readers  that  on  "Friday  an  or- 
dinance passed  both  Houses  for  suppressing  of  stage-plays,  which 
of  late  began  to  come  in  use  again."  The  ordinance  itself  is  as 
uncivil  a  document  as  ever  proceeded  from  rufiled  authority  ;  and 
the  framers  clearly  considered  that  if  they  had  not  crushed  the 
stage  for  ev^er,  they  had  unquestionably  frozen  out  the  actors  as 
long  as  the  existing  government  should  endure. 

At  this  juncture,  historians  inform  us  that  many  of  the  ousted 
actors  took  military  service — generally,  as  was  to  be  expected,  on 
the  royalist  side.  But,  in  1G47,  the  struggle  was  virtually  over. 
The  great  fire  was  quenched,  and  there  was  only  a  trampling  out 
of  sparks  and  embers.  Cliarles  Hart,  the  actor — grandson  of 
Shakspeare's  sister — holds  a  prominent  place  among  these  players 
turned  soldiers,  as  one  who  rose  to  be  a  major  in  Rupert's  Horse. 
Charles  Hart,  however,  was  at  this  period  only  seventeen  years  of 
age,  and  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  had  elapsed  since  Rupert  had 
been  ordered  beyond  sea,  for  his  weak  defence  of  Bristol.  Ru- 
pert's major  was,  probably,  that  very  "jolly  good  fellow"  with 
whom  Pepys  used  to  take  wine  and  anchovies  to  such  excess  as  to 
make  it  necessary  for  his  "  girl"  to  rise  early,  and  fetch  her  sick 
master  fresh  water,  wherewith  to  slake  his  thirst,  in  the  morning. 

The  enrolment  of  actors  in  either  army  occurred  at  an  earlier 
period,  and  one  Hart  was  certainly  among  them.  Thus  Alleyn, 
erst  of  the  Cockpit,  filled  the  part  of  quartermaster-general  to  the 
King's  army  at  Oxford.     Burt  became  a    cornet,   Shatterel  was 


THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS.     39 

something  less  dignified  in  the  same  branch  of  the  service, — the 
cavalry.  These  survived  to  see  the  old  curtain  once  more  drawn ; 
but  record  is  made  of  the  death  of  one  gallant  player,  said  to  be 
Will  Robinson,  whom  doughty  Harrison  encountered  in  fight,  and 
through  whom  he  passed  his  terrible  sword,  shouting  at  the  same 
time :  "  Cursed  is  he  that  doeth  the  Avork  of  the  Lord  negligently  !" 
This  serious  bit  of  stage  business  would  have  been  more  dramat- 
ically arranged  had  Robinson  been  encountered  by  Swanston,  a 
player  of  Presbyterian  tendencies,  who  served  in  the  Parliamentary 
army.  A  "  terrific  broad-sword  combat"  between  the  two  might 
have  been  an  encounter  which  both  armies  might  have  looked  at 
with  interest,  and  supported  by  applause.  Of  the  military  fortunes 
of  the  actors  none  was  so  favorable  as  brave  little  Mohun's,  who 
crossed  to  Flanders,  returned  a  major,  and  was  subsequently  set  down 
in  the  "  cast"  under  his  military  title.  Old  Taylor  retired,  with  that 
original  portrait  of  Shakspeare  to  solace  him,  which  was  to  pass 
by  the  hands  of  Davenant  to  that  glory  of  our  stage,  "  incompar- 
able Betterton."  Pollard,  too,  withdrew,  and  lusty  Lowen,  after  a 
time,  kicked  both  sock  and  buskin  out  of  sight,  clapped  on  an 
apron,  and  appeared,  with  well-merited  success,  as  landlord  of  the 
Three  Pigeons,  at  Brentford. 

The  actors  could  not  comprehend  why  their  office  was  sup- 
pressed, while  the  bear-baiters  were  putting  money  in  both  pockets, 
and  non-edifying  puppet-shows  Avere  enriching  their  proprietors. 
If  Shakspeare  was  driven  from  Blackfriars  and  the  Cockpit,  was  it 
fair  to  allow  Bel  and  the  Dragon  to  be  enacted  by  dolls,  at  the 
foot  of  Holborn  Bridge  ?  The  players  were  told  that  the  public 
would  profit  by  the  abolition  of  their  vocation.  Loose  young 
gentlemen,  fast  merchant-factors,  and  wild  young  apprentices  were 
no  longer  to  be  seen,  it  was  said,  hanging  about  the  theatres, 
spending  all  their  spare  money,  much  that  they  could  not  spare, 
and  not  a  little  which  was  not  theirs  to  spend.  It  was  uncivilly 
suggested  that  the  actors  were  a  merry  sort  of  thieves,  who  used 
to  attach  themselves  to  the  puny  gallants  who  sought  their  society, 
and  strip  them  of  the  gold  pieces  in  their  pouches,  the  bodkin  on 
their  thighs,  the  girdles  buckled  to  give  them  shape,  and  the  very 
beavers  jauntily  plumed  to  lend  them  grace  and  stature. 

In  some  of  the  streets  by  the  river  side  a  tragedy-king  or  two 


40  doean's  annals  of  the  stage. 

found  refuge  with  kinsfolk.  The  old  theatres  stood  erect  and 
desolate,  and  the  owners,  with  hands  in  empty  pockets,  -i-sked  how 
they  were  to  be  expected  to  pay  ground-rent,  now  that  they 
earned  nothing  ?  whereas  their  afternoon  share  used  to  be  twenty 
— ay,  thirty  shillings,  sir !  And  see,  the  flag  is  still  flying  above 
the  old  house  over  the  water,  and  a  lad  who  erst  played  under 
it,  looks  up  at  the  banner  with  a  proud  sorrow.  An  elder  actor 
puts  his  hands  on  the  lad's  shoulder,  and  cries:  "Before  the  old 
scene  is  on  again,  boy,  thy  face  will  be  as  battered  as  the  flag 
there  on  the  roof-top !"  And  as  this  elder  actor  passes  on,  he 
has  a  word  with  a  fellow-mime  who  has  been  less  provident  than 
he,  and  whose  present  necessities  he  relieves  according  to  his 
means.  Near  them  stand  a  couple  of  deplorable-looking  "  door- 
keepers," or,  as  we  should  call  them  now,  "  money-takers,"  and 
the  well-to-do  ex-actor  has  his  allusive  joke  at  their  old  rascality, 
and  affects  to  condole  with  them  that  the  time  is  gone  by  when 
they  used  to  scratch  their  neck  where  it  itched  not,  and  then 
dropped  shilling  and  half-crown  pieces  behind  their  collars !  But 
they  were  not  the  only  poor  rogues  who  suffered  by  revolution. 
That  slipshod  tapster,  whom  a  guest  is  cudgelling  at  a  tavern-door, 
was  once  the  proudest  and  most  extravagantly-dressed  of  the 
tobacco-men,  whose  notice  the  smokers  in  the  pit  gingerly  en- 
treated, and  who  used  to  vend,  at  a  penny  the  pipeful,  tobacco 
that  was  not  worth  a  shilling  a  cart-load.  And  behold  other  evi- 
dences of  the  hardness  of  the  times !  Those  shufliing  fiddlers  who  so 
humbly  peer  through  the  low  windows  into  the  tavern  room,  and 
meekly  inquire  :  "  Will  you  have  any  music,  gentlemen  ?"  they  are 
tuneful  i-elics  of  the  band  who  were  wont  to  shed  harmony  from  the 
balcony  above  the  stage,  and  play  in  fashionable  houses,  at  the 
rate  of  ten  shillings  for  each  hour.  Nou)^  they  shamble  about  in 
pairs,  and  resignedly  accept  the  smallest  dole,  and  think  mourn- 
fully of  the  time  when  the}-  heralded  the  coming  of  kings,  and 
softly  tuned  the  dirge  at  the  burying  of  Ophelia ! 

Even  these  liave  pity  to  spare  for  a  lower  class  than  themselves, 
— the  journeymen  playwrights,  whom  the  managers  once  retained 
at  an  annual  stipend  and  "beneficial  second  nights."  The  old 
playwrights  were  fain  to  turn  pamphleteers,  but  their  works  sold 
only  for  a  penny,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  those  two  shabby- 


THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS.     41 

genteel  people,  who  have  just  nodded  sorrowfully  to  the  fiddlers, 
are  not  joyously  tipplhig  sack  and  Gascony  wine,  but  are  im- 
bibing unorthodox  ale  and  heretical  small  beer.  "  Cunctis  gravio- 
ra  cofhurnis  /"  murmurs  the  old  actor,  whose  father  was  a  school- 
master ;  "  it's  more  pitiful  than  any  of  your  tragedies  !" 

The  distress  was  severe,  but  the  profession  had  to  abide  it. 
Much  amendment  was  promised,  if  only  something  of  the  old  life 
might  be  pursued  without  peril  of  the  stocks  or  the  whipping- 
post. The  authorities  would  not  heed  these  promises,  but  grimly 
smiled, — at  the  actors,  who  undertook  to  promote  virtue;  the 
poets,  who  engaged  to  be  proper  of  speech;  the  managers,  who 
bound  themselves  to  prohibit  the  entrance  of  all  temptations  into 
"the  sixpenny  rooms;"  and  the  tobacco-men,  who  swore  with 
earnest  irreverence,  to  vend  nothing  but  the  pure  Spanish  leaf, 
even  in  the  threepenny  galleries. 

But  the  tragedy  which  ended  with  the  killing  of  the  King  gave 
sad  hearts  to  the  comedians,  who  were  in  worse  plight  than 
before,  being  now  deprived  of  hope  itself.  One  or  two  contrived 
to  print  and  sell  old  plays  for  their  own  benefit;  a  few  authors 
continued  to  add  a  new  piece,  now  and  then,  to  the  stock,  and 
that  there  were  readers  for  them  we  may  conjecture  from  the  fact 
of  the  advertisements  which  began  to  appear  in  the  papers, — 
sometimes  of  the  publication  of  a  solitary  play,  at  another  of  the 
entire  dramatic  works  of  that  most  noble  lady  the  Marchioness  of 
Newcastle.  The  actors  themselves  united  boldness  with  circum- 
spection. Richard  Cox,  dropping  the  words  ^^to/  and  player,  con- 
structed a  mixed  entertainment  in  which  he  spoke  and  sang,  and, 
on  one  occasion,  so  aptly  mimicked  the  character  of  an  artisan, 
that  a  master  in  the  craft  kindly  and  earnestly  offered  to  engage 
him.  During  the  suppression,  Cowley's  "  Guardian"  was  privately 
played  at  Cambridge.  The  authorities  would  seem  to  have 
winked  at  these  private  representations,  or  to  have  declined 
noticing  them  until  after  the  expiration  of  the  period  within  which 
tlie  actors  were  exposed  to  punishment.  Too  great  audacity, 
however,  was  promptly  and  severely  visited,  from  the  earliest  days  . 
after  the  issuing  of  the  prohibitory  decree.  A  first-rate  troop 
obtained  possession  of  the  Cockpit  for  a  few  days,  in  1648.  They 
liad  plaved,  unmolested,  for  three  days,   and   were  in  the  very 


42  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

midst  of  the  "Bloody  Brother,"  on  the  fourth,  when  the  house 
was  invaded  by  the  Puritan  soldiery,  the  actors  captured,  the 
audience  dispersed,  and  the  seats  and  the  stage  righteously 
smashed  into  fragments.  The  phxyers  (some  of  them  the 
most  accomplished  of  their  day)  were  paraded  through  the 
streets  in  all  their  stage  finery,  and  clapped  into  the  Gate 
House  and  other  prisons,  whence  they  were  too  happy  to  escape, 
after  much  unseemly  treatment,  at  the  cost  of  all  the  theatrical 
pi'operty  which  they  had  carried  on  their  backs  into  durance 
vile. 

This  severity,  visited  in  other  houses  as  well  as  the  Cockpit, 
caused  some  actors  to  despair,  while  it  rendered  others  only  a 
little  more  discreet.  Rhodes,  the  old  prompter  at  Blackfriars, 
turned  bookseller,  and  opened  a  shop  at  Charing  Cross.  There 
he  and  one  Betterton,  an  ex-under-cook  in  the  kitchen  of  Charles 
I.,  who  lived  in  Tothill  Street,  talked  mournfully  over  the  past, 
and,  according  to  their  respective  humors,  of  the  future.  The 
cook's  sons  listened  the  while,  and  one  of  them  especially  took 
delight  in  hearing  old  stories  of  players,  and  in  cultivating  an  ac- 
quaintance with  the  old  theatrical  bookseller.  In  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  ex-prompter's  shop,  knots  of  very  slenderly-built 
players  used  to  congregate  at  certain  seasons.  A  delegate  from 
their  number  might  be  seen  whispering  to  the  citizen  captain  in 
command  at  Whitehall,  who,  as  wicked  people  reported,  con- 
sented, for  a  "  consideration,"  not  to  bring  his  red-coats  down  to 
the  Bull  or  other  localities  where  private  stages  were  erected, — 
especially  during  the  time  of  Bartholomew  Fair,  Christmas,  and 
other  joyous  tides.  To  his  shame  be  it  recorded,  the  captain  oc- 
casionally broke  his  promise,  or  the  poor  actors  had  fallen  short 
in  their  purchase-money  of  his  pledge,  and  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  piece,  the  little  theatre  would  be  invaded,  and  the  audience  be 
rendered  subject  to  as  much  virtuous  indignation  as  the  actor*?. 

The  cause  of  the  latter,  however,  found  supporters  in  many  of 
the  members  of  the  aristocracy.  Close  at  hand,  near  Rhodes's 
shop,  lived  Lord  Uatton,  first  of  the  four  peers  so  styled.  Ilis 
house  was  in  Scotland  Yard.  His  lands  had  gone  by  forfeiture, 
but  the  proud  old  Cheshire  land-owner  cared  more  for  the  preser- 
vation of  the  deed  by  which  he  and  his  ancestors  had  he-Id  them, 


THE  DECLINE  AXU  FALL  OF  THE  PLAYERS.     43 

than  be  did  for  the  loss  of  the  acres  themselves.  Hatton  was  the 
employer,  so  to  speak,  of  Dugdale,  and  the  patron  of  literaiy  men 
and  of  actors,  and — it  must  be  added — of  very  frivolous  company 
besides.  He  devoted  much  time  to  the  preparation  of  a  Book  of 
Psalms  and  the  ill-treatment  of,  his  wife ;  and  was  altogether  an 
eccentric  personage,  for  he  recommended  Lambert's  daughter  as  a 
jxjrsonally  and  politically  suitable  wife  for  Charles  II.,  and  after- 
wards discarded  his  own  eldest  son  for  marrying  that  incomparable 
lady.  In  Hatton,  the  players  had  a  supreme  patron  in  town ; 
and  they  found  friends  as  serviceable  to  them  in  the  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  residing  a  few  miles  from  the  capital.  These  patrons 
opened  their  houses  to  the  actors,  for  stage  representations ;  but 
even  this  private  patronage  had  to  be  distributed  discreetly. 
Goffe,  the  light-hmbed  lad  who  used  to  play  women's  parts  at  the 
"  Blackfriars,"  was  generall}^  employed  as  messenger  to  announce 
individually  to  the  audience  when  they  were  to  assemble,  and  to 
the  actors  the  time  and  place  for  the  play.  One  of  the  mansions 
wherein  these  dramatic  entertainments  were  most  frequently  given, 
was  Holland  House,  Kensington.  It  was  then  held  and  inhabited 
by  the  widowed  countess  of  that  unstable  Earl  of  Holland,  whose 
head  had  fallen  on  the  scaffold,  in  March,  1649;  but  this  grand- 
daughter of  old  Sir  Walter  Cope,  who  lost  Camden  House  at  cards 
to  a  Cheapside  mercer,  Sir  Baptist  Hicks,  was  a  strong-minded 
woman,  and  perhaps  found  some  consolation  in  patronizing  the 
pleasures  which  the  enemies  of  her  defunct  lord  so  stringently  pro- 
hibited. When  the  play  was  over,  a  collection  was  made  among 
the  noble  spectators,  whose  contributions  were  divided  between 
the  players,  according  to  the  measure  of  their  merits.  This  done, 
they  wended  their  way  down  the  avenue  to  the  high  road,  where 
])robably,  on  some  bright  summer  afternoon,  if  a  part  of  them  pru- 
dently returned  afoot  to  town,  a  joyous  but  less  prudent  few  "pad- 
dled it"  to  Brentford,  and  made  a  short  but  glad  night  of  it  with 
tlivir  brother  of  the  "Three  Pigeons." 

At  the  most  this  was  but  a  poor  life ;  but  such  as  it  was,  the 
players  were  obliged  to  make  the  best  of  it.  If  they  were  impa- 
tient, it  was  not  without  some  reason,  for  though  Oliver  despised 
the  stage,  he  could  condescend  to  laugh  at,  and  with,  men 
of  less  dignity   in   their  vocation   than   actors.     Buffoonery  was 


44  doran's  anxals  of  the  stage. 

not  entirely  expelled  fi'ora  lils  otherwise  grave  court.  At  the 
marriage  festival  of  his  daughter  Frances  and  his  son-in-law  Mr. 
Rich,  the  Protector  would  not  tolerate  the  utterance  of  a  line  from 
Shakspeare,  expressed  from  the  lips  of  a  player ;  but  there  were 
hired  buffoons  at  that  entertainracut,  which  they  well-nigh  brou'i'ht 
to  a  tragical  conclusion.  A  couple  of  these  saucy  fellows  seeintj 
Sir  Thomas  Hillingsley,  the  old  gentleman-usher  to  the  Queen  of 
Bohemia,  gravely  dancing,  sought  to  excite  a  laugh  by  trying  to 
blacken  his  face  with  a  burnt  cork.  The  high-bred,  solemn  old 
gentleman  was  so  aroused  to  anger  by  this  unseemly  audacity, 
that  he  drew  his  dagger,  and,  but  for  swift  interference,  would 
have  run  it  beneath  the  fifth  rib  of  the  most  active  of  his  rude 
assailants.  On  this  occasion,  Cromwell  himself  was  almost  as 
lively  as  the  hired  jesters  ;  snatching  off  the  wig  of  his  son  Rich- 
ard, he  feigned  to  fling  it  in  the  tire,  but  suddenly  passing  the 
wig  under  him,  and  seating  himself  upon  it,  he  pretended  that  it 
had  been  destroyed,  amid  the  servile  applause  of  the  edified  spec- 
tators. The  actors  might  reasonably  have  argued  that  "  Hamlet" 
in  Scotland  Yard  or  at  Holland  House  was  a  more  worthy  enter- 
tainment than  such  grown-up  follies  in  the  gallery  at  Whitehall. 

Those  follies  ceased  to  be  ;  Oliver  had  passed  away,  and  Richard 
had  laid  down  the  greatness  which  had  never  sat  well  upon  him. 
Important  changes  were  at  hand,  and  the  merry  rattle  of  Monk's 
drums  coming  up  Gray's  Inn  Road,  welcomed  by  thousands  of 
dusty  spectators,  announced  no  more  cheering  prospect  to  any 
class  than  to  the  actors.  The  Oxford  vintner's  son,  Will  Davenant, 
might  be  seen  bustUng  about  in  happy  hurry,  eagerly  showing 
young  Betterton  how  Taylor  used  to  play  Hamlet,  under  the 
instruction  of  Burbage,  and  announcing  bright  days  to  open- 
mouthed  Kynaston,  ready  at  a  moment's  warning  to  leap  over  his 
master's  counter,  and  take  his  standing  at  the  balcony  as  the 
smooth-cheeked  Juliet. 

Meanwhile,  beaming  old  Rhodes,  with  a  head  full  of  memories 
of  the  joyous  Blackfriars'  days,  and  the  merry  afternoons  over  the 
water,  at  the  Globe,  leaving  his  once  apprentice,  Betterton,  listen- 
ing to  Davenaiit's  stage  histoi'ios,  and  Kynaston,  not  yet  out  of  his 
time,  longing  to  flaunt  it  before  an  audience,  took  his  own  way  to 
Hyde   Park,  wliere   Monk  was  encamped,  and   there   obtained,  in 


THE    DECLINE    AND    FALL    OF    THE    PLAYERS.  45 

due  time,  from  that  far-seeing  individual,  license  to  once  more  raise 
the  theati'ical  flag,  enroll  the  actors,  light  up  the  stage,  and,  in  a 
word,  revive  the  English  theatre.  In  a  few  days  the  drama  com- 
menced its  new  career  in  the  Cockpit,  in  Drury  Lane ;  and  this 
fact  seemed  so  significant,  as  to  the  character  of  General  Monk's 
tastes,  that,  subsequently,  when  he  and  the  Council  of  State  dined 
in  the  city  halls,  the  companies  treated  their  guests,  after  dinnei-, 
with  satirical  farces,  such  as  "  Citizen  and  Soldier,"  "  Country 
Tom"  and  "  City  Dick,"  with,  as  the  newspapers  inform  us,  "  danc- 
ing and  singing,  many  shapes  and  ghosts,  and  the  like ;  and  all  to 
please  his  Excellency  the  Lord  General." 

The  English  stage  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  both  Monk  and 
Rhodes.  The  former  made  glorious  summer  of  the  actors'  winter 
of  discontent ;  and  the  latter  inaugurated  the  Restoration  by  in- 
troducing young  Betterton.  The  son  of  Charles  L's  cook  was,  for 
fifty-one  years,  the  pride  of  the  English  theatre.  His  acting  was 
witnessed  by  more  than  one  old  contemporary  of  Shakspeare, — 
the  poet's  younger  brother  being  among  them, — he  surviving  till 
shortly  after  the  accc^ion  of  Charles  II.  The  destitute  actors 
warmed  into  life  and  laughter  again  beneath  the  sunshine  of  his 
presence.  His  dignity,  his  marvellous  talent,  his  versatility,  his 
imperishable  fame,  are  all  well  known  and  acknowledged.  His 
industry  is  indicated  by  the  fact  that  he  created  one  hundred  and 
thirty  new  characters  !  Among  them  were  Jaffier  and  Valentine, 
three  Virginiuses,  and  Sir  John  Brute.  He  was  as  mirthful  in 
Falstaft'  as  he  Avas  majestic  in  Alexander ;  and  the  craft  of  his 
Ulysses,  the  grace  and  passion  of  his  Hamlet,  the  terrible  force  of 
his  Othello,  were  not  more  remarkable  than  the  low  comedy  of 
his  Old  Bachelor,  the  airiness  of  his  Woodville,  or  the  cowardly 
bluster  of  his  Thersites.  The  old  actors  who  had  been  frozen  out, 
and  the  new  who  had  much  to  learn,  could  not  have  rallied  round 
a  more  noble  or  a  worthier  chief;  for  Betterton  was  not  a  greater 
actor  than  he  was  a  true  and  honorable  gentleman.  Only  for  him, 
the  old  frozen-outs  would  have  fared  but  badly.  He  enriched 
himself  and  them,  and,  as  long  as  he  lived,  gave  dignity  to  his  pro 
fession.  The  humble  lad,  born  in  Tothill  Street,  before  monarchy 
and  the  stage  went  down,  had  a  royal  funeral  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  after  dying  in  harness  almost  in  sight  of  the  lamps.     He 


46  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

deserved  no  less,  for  he  was  the  king  of  an  art  which  had  well-nigb 
perished  in  the  Commonwealth  times,  and  he  was  a  monarch  who 
probably  has  never  since  had,  altogether,  his  equal.  Off,  as  on  the 
stage,  he  was  exemplary  in  his  bearing ;  true  to  every  duty  ;  aa 
good  a  country-gentleman  on  his  farm  in  Berkshire  as  he  was  per- 
fect actor  in  town  ;  pursuing  with  his  excellent  wife  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way  ;  not  tempted  by  the  vices  of  his  time,  nor  disturbed  by 
its  politics  ;  not  tippling  like  Underbill ;  not  plotting  and  betray- 
ing the  plotters  against  William,  like  Goodman,  nor  carrying  letters 
for  a  costly  fee  between  London  and  St.  Gennains,  like  Scuda- 
more.  If  there  had  been  a  leading  player  on  the  stage  in  1647, 
with  the  qualities,  public  and  private,  which  distinguished  Better- 
ton,  there  perhaps  would  have  been  a  less  severe  ordinance  than 
that  which  inflicted  so  much  misery  on  the  actors,  and  which, 
after  a  long  decline,  brought  about  a  fall ;  from  which  they  were, 
however,  as  we  shall  see,  destined  to  rise  and  flourish. 


THE  BOY  ACTRESSES  AND  THE   YOUNG  LADIES.        47 


CHAPTER  m. 

THE  "  BOY  ACTRESSES,"  AND  THE  "  YOUNG  LADIES." 

The  Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  is  the  "  sacred  ground"  of  the 
English  drama,  since  the  restoration  of  monarchy.  At  the  Cock- 
pit (Pit  Street  remains  a  memory  of  the  place),  otherwise  called 
the  Phoenix,  in  the  "  lane"  above  named,  the  old  English  actors 
had  uttered  their  last  words  before  they  were  silenced.  In  a  re- 
construction of  the  edifice  near,  rather  than  on,  the  old  site,  tho 
young  English  actors,  under  Rhodes,  built  their  new  stage,  and 
wooed  the  willing  town. 

There  was  some  irregularity  in  the  first  steps  made  to  re-estab- 
lish the  stage,  which,  after  an  uneasy  course  of  about  four  years, 
was  terminated  by  Charles  II.,  who,  in  1663,  granted  patents  for 
two  theatres,  and  no  more,  in  London.  Under  one  patent,  Killi- 
grew,  at  the  head  of  the  King's  company  (the  Cockpit  being 
closed)  opened  at  the  new  theatre  in  Drury  Lane,  in  August,  1663, 
with  a  play  of  the  olden  time, — the  "  Humorous  Lieutenant,"  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Under  the  second  patent,  Davenant  and 
the  Duke  of  York's  company  found  a  home, — first  at  the  old 
Cockpit,  then  in  Salisbury  Court,  Fleet  Street,  the  building  of 
which  was  commenced  in  1660,  on  the  site  of  the  old  granary  of 
Salisbury  house,  which  had  served  for  a  theatre  in  the  early  years 
of  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  This  little  stage  was  lapped  up  by  the 
great  tongue  of  fire,  by  which  many  a  nobler  edifice  was  destroyed , 
in  1666.  But  previous  to  the  fire,  thence  went  Davenant  and  the 
Duke's  troop  to  the  old  Tennis  Court,  the  first  of  the  three  theatres 
in  Portugal  Row,  on  the  south  side  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  from 
which  the  houses  took  their  name. 

In  1671,  Davenant  being  dead,  the  company,  under  the  nominal 
management  of  his  widow,  migrated  to  a  house  designed  by  Wren, 
and  decorated  by  Grinling  Gibbous.     This  was  the  Duke's  Theatre, 


4S  doran's  annals  of  the  stags;. 

in  Dorset  Gardens.  It  was  in  close  proximity  to  the  old  Salisbui-y 
Court  Theatre,  and  it  presented  a  double  face, — oiie  towards  Fleet 
Street,  the  other  overlooking  the  terrace  which  gave  access  to 
visitors  who  came  by  the  river.  Later,  this  company  was  housed 
in  Lincoln's  Lin  Fields  again  ;  but  it  migrated,  in  1732,  to  Covent 
Garden,  under  Rich.  Rich's  house  was  burnt  down  in  1S08,  and 
its  successor,  built  by  Smirke,  was  destroyed  in  1856.  On  the 
site  of  the  latter  now  stands  the  Royal  Italian  Opera,  the  represent- 
ative, in  its  way,  of  the  line  of  houses  wherein  the  Duke's  com- 
pany struggled  against  their  competitors  of  the  King's. 

The  first  house  of  those  competitors  in  Drury  Lane  was  burnt 
in  1672,  but  the  King's  company  took  refuge  in  the  "Fields"  till 
Wren  built  the  new  house,  opened  in  1674.  The  two  troojjs  re- 
mained divided,  yet  not  opposed,  each  keeping  to  its  recognized 
stock  pieces,  till  1682,  when,  Killigrew  having  "  shulBed  otf  this 
mortal  coil,"  the  two  companies,  after  due  weeding,  formed  into 
one,  and  abandoning  Lincoln's  Inn  to  the  tennis-players,  Dorset 
Gardens  to  the  wrestlers,  and  both  to  decay,  they  opened  at  the 
New  Drury,  built  by  Sir  Christopher,- on  the  16th  of  November, 
1682.  Wren's  theatre  was  taken  down  in  1791  ;  its  successor, 
built  by  Holland,  was  opened  in  1794,  and  was  destroyed  in  1809. 
The  present  edifice  is  the  fourth  which  has  occupied  a  site  in 
Drury  Lane.     It  is  the  work  of  Wyatt,  and  was  opened  in  1812. 

Thus  much  for  the  edifice  of  the  theatres  of  the  last  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  Before  we  come  to  the  "  ladies  and  gentle- 
men" who  met  upon  the  respective  stages,  and  strove  for  the 
approval  of  the  town,  let  me  notice  that,  after  the  death  of  Oliver, 
Davenant  publicly  exhibited  a  mixed  entertainment,  chiefly  musical, 
but  which  was  not  held  to  be  an  infringement  of  the  law  against 
the  acting  of  plays.  Early  in  May,  1659,  Evelyn  writes  : — "  I  went 
to  see  a  new  opera,  after  the  Italian  way,  in  recitative  music  and 
scenes,  much  inferior  to  the  Italian  composure  and  magnificence  ; 
but  it  was  prodigious,  that  in  a  time  of  such  public  consternation, 
such  a  vanity  should  be  kept  up  or  permitted."  That  these  mu- 
sical entertainments  were  something  (juite  apart  from  "plays,"  is 
manifest  by  another  entry  in  Evelyn's  diary,  in  January,  1661  : 
"  After  divers  years  since  I  had  seen  any  play,  I  went  to  see  acted 
*  The  Scornful  Lady,'  at  a  new  theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields." 


THE   BOY  ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOU^^G  LADIES.        49 

Of  Shakspeare's  brother  Charles,  who  lived  to  this  period,  Oldya 
says  : — "  This  opportunity  made  the  actors  greedily  inquisitive 
into  every  little  circumstance,  more  especially  in  Shakspeare's 
dramatic  character,  which  his  brother  could  relate  of  him.  But 
he,  it  seems,  was  so  stricken  in  years,  and  possibly  his  memory' so 
weakened  by  infirmities  (which  might  make  him  the  easier  pass 
for  a  man  of  weak  intellects),  that  he  could  give  them  but  little 
light  into  their  inquiries ;  and  all  that  could  be  recollected  fi-om 
him  of  his  brother  Will  in  that  station,  was  the  faint,  general,  and 
almost  lost  ideas,  he  had  of  having  once  seen  him  act  a  part  in  one 
of  his  own  comedies,  wherein  being  to  personate  a  decrepit  old 
man,  he  wore  a  long  beard,  and  appeared  so  weak  and  drooping 
and  unable  to  walk,  that  he  was  forced  to  be  supported  and  carried 
by  another  person  to  a  table,  at  which  he  was  seated  among  some 
company  who  were  eating,  and  one  of  them  sung  a  song."  This 
description  applies  to  old  Adam,  in  "  As  You  Like  It ;"  and  he 
who  feebly  shadowed  it  forth,  formed  a  link  which  connected  the 
old  theatre  with  the  new. 

The  principal  actors  in  Killigrew's  company,  from  which  that 
of  Drury  Lane  is  descended,  were  Bateman,  Baxter,  Bird  (The- 
ophilus),  Blagden,  Burt,  Cartwright,  Clun,  Duke,  Hancock,  Hart, 
Kynaston,  Lacy,  Mohun,  the  Shatterels  (William  and  Robert), 
and  Wintersel.  Later  additions  gave  to  this  company  Beeston, 
Bell,  Charleton,  "  Scum"  Goodman,  Griffin,  Hains,  Joe  Harris, 
Hughes,  Lyddoll,  Reeves,  and  Shirley. 

The  "  ladies"  were  Mrs.  Corey,  Eastland,  Hughes,  Knep,  the 
Marshalls  (Anne  and  Rebecca),  Rutter,  Uphill,  whom  Sir  Robert 
Howard  too  tardily  married,  and  Weaver.  Later  engagements 
included  those  of  Mrs.  Boutel,  Gwyn  (Nell),  James,  Reeves,  and 
Verjuice.  These  were  sworn  at  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  Ofiice  to 
serve  the  King.  Of  the  "  gentlemen,"  ten  were  enrolled  on  the 
Royal  Household  Establishment,  and  provided  with  liveries  of 
scarlet  cloth  and  silver  lace.  In  the  warrants  of  the  Lord  Cham- 
berlain they  were  styled  "  Gentlemen  of  the  Great  Chamber;"  and 
they  might  have  pointed  to  this  fact  as  proof  of  the  dignity  of 
their  profession. 

The  company  first  got  together  by  Rhodes,  subsequently  enlarg- 
ed by  Davenant,  and  sworn  to  serve  the  Duke  of  York,  at  Lin- 
Vol.  I. — 3 


50  doean's  annals  of  the  stage. 

coin's  Inn  Fields,  was  in  some  respects  superior  to  that  of  Drury 
Lane.  Rhodes's  troop  included  the  great  Betterton,  Dixon,  Lillis- 
ton,  Lovel,  Nokes  (Robert),  and  six  lads  employed  to  represent 
female  characters, — Angel,  William  Betterton,  a  brother  of  the 
great  actor  (drowned  early  in  life,  at  Wallingford),  Floid,  Kynas- 
ton  (for  a  time),  Mosely,  and  Nokes  (Janus).  Later,  Davenant 
added  Blagden,  Harris,  Price,  and  Richards ;  Medbourn,  Norris, 
Sandford,  Smith,  and  Young.  The  actresses  were  Mrs.  Davenport, 
Davies,  Gibbs,  Holden,  Jennings,  Long,  and  Saunderson,  whom 
Betterton  shortly  after  married. 

This  new  fashion  of  actresses  was  a  French  fashion,  and  the 
mode  being  imported  from  France,  a  French  company,  with  wo- 
men among  them,  came  over  to  London.  Hoping  for  the  sanction 
of  their  countrywoman.  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  they  established 
themselves  in  Blackfriars.  This  essay  excited  all  the  fury  of 
Prynne,  who  called  these  actresses  by  very  unsavory  names ;  but 
who,  in  styling  them  "  unwomanish  and  graceless,"  did  not  mean 
to  imply  that  they  were  awkward  and  unfeminine,  but  that  acting 
was  unworthy  of  their  sex,  and  unbecoming  women  born  in  an 
era  of  grace. 

"Glad  am  I  to  say,"  remarks  as  stout  a  Puritan  as  Prynne, 
namely,  Thomas  Brand,  in  a  comment  addressed  to  Laud,  "Glad 
am  I  to  say  they  were  hissed,  hooted,  and  pippin-pelted  from  the 
stage,  so  that  I  do  not  think  they  will  soon  be  ready  to  try  the 
same  again."  Although  Brand  asserts  "that  all  virtuous  and  well- 
disposed  persons  in  this  town"  were  "justly  offended"  at  these 
women  "  or  monsters  rather,"  as  Prynne  calls  them,  "  expelled  from 
their  own  country,"  adds  Brand,  yet  more  sober-thinking  people 
did  not  fail  to  see  the  propriety  of  Juliet  being  represented  by  a 
girl  ratlier  than  by  a  boy.  Accordingly,  we  hear  of  English 
actresses  even  before  the  Restoration,  mingled,  however,  with  boys 
who  shared  with  them  that  "line  of  business."  "The  boy's  a 
pretty  actor,"  says  Lady  Strangelove,  in  the  "  Court  Beggar,"  played 
at  the  Cockpit,  in  1632,  "and  his  mother  can  play  her  part.  The 
women  now  are  in  great  request."  Prynne  groaned  at  the  "re- 
quest" becoming  general.  "They  have  now,"  he  writes,  in  1633, 
"  their  female  players  in  Italy  and  other  foreign  parts." 

Davcnant's  "  Siege  of  Rhodes"  was  privately  acted  by  amateurs. 


THE   BOY   ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        51 

including  Matthew  Locke  and  Henry  Purcell ;  the  parts  of  lanthe 
and  Roxalana  were  played  by  Mrs.  Edward  Coleman  and  another 
lady.  The  piece  is  so  stnffed  with  heroic  deeds,  heroic  love,  and 
heroic  generosity,  that  none  more  suitable  could  be  found  for 
ladies  to  appear  in.  Nevertheless,  when  Rhodes  was  permitted 
to  re-open  the  stage,  he  could  only  assemble  boys  about  him 
for  his  Evadnes,  Aspasias,  and  the  other  heroines  of  ancient 
tragedy. 

Now,  the  resumption  of  the  old  practice  of  "women's  parts 
being  represented  by  men  in  the  habits  of  women,"  gave  offence, 
and  this  is  assigned  as  a  reason  in  the  first  patents,  according  to 
Kiiligrew  and  Davenant,  why  those  managers  were  authorized  to 
employ  actresses  to  represent  all  female  characters.  Kiiligrew 
was  the  first  to  avail  himself  of  the  privilege.  It  was  time.  Some 
of  Rhodes's  "  boys"  were  men  past  forty,  who  frisked  it  as  wenches 
of  fifteen ;  even  real  kings  were  kept  waiting  because  theatrical 
queens  had  not  yet  shaved ;  when  they  did  appear  they  looked 
like  "the  guard  disguised,"  and  when  the  prompter  called  "Des- 
demona" — "  enter  Giant  !"  Who  the  lady  was  who  first  trod  the 
stage  as  a  professional  actress  is  not  known ;  but  that  she  belonged 
to  Killigrew's  company  is  certain.  The  character  she  assumed 
was  Desdemona,  and  she  was  introduced  by  a  prologue  written  for 
the- occasion  by  Thomas  Jordan.  It  can  hardly  be  supposed  that 
she  was  too  modest  to  reveal  her  name,  and  that  of  Anne  Marshall 
has  been  suggested,  as  also  that  of  Margaret  Hughes.  On  the  3d 
of  January,  1661,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "Beggar's  Bush"  was 
performed  at  Killigrew's  Theatre,  "  it  being  very  well  done,"  says 
Pepys,  "and  here  the  first  time  that  ever  I  saw  women  come 
upon  the  stage."  Davenant  did  not  bring  forward  his  actresses 
before  the  end  of  June,  1661,  when  he  produced  the  second  part 
of  the  "Siege  of  Rhodes,"  with  Mrs.  Davenport  as  Roxalana,  and 
Mrs.  Saunderson  as  lanthe;  both  these  ladies,  with  Mrs.  Davies 
and  Mrs.  Long,  boarded  in  Davenant's  house.  Kiiligrew  abused 
his  privilege  to  employ  ladies.  In  1664,  his  comedy,  "the  Parson's 
Wedding,"  wherein  the  plague  is  made  a  comic  incident  of,  con- 
nected with  unexampled  profligacy,  was  acted,  "I  am  /oW,"  are 
Pepys's  ow^n  words,  "by  nothing  but  women,  at  the  King's 
house." 


52  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

By  this  time  the  vocation  of  the  "  boy-actresses"  had  altogether 
passed  away;  and  there  only  remains  for  me  to  briefly  trace  the 
career  of  those  old  world  representatives  of  the  gentle  or  truculent 
heroines  depicted  by  our  early  dramatists. 

There  were  three  members  of  Killigrew's,  or  the  King's  company, 
who  were  admirable  representatives  of  female  characters  before 
the  Civil  Wars.  These  were  Hart,  Burt,  and  Clun — all  pupils  of 
luckless  Robinson,  slain  in  fight,  who  was  himself  an  accom- 
plished "actress."  Of  the  three.  Hart  I'ose  to  the  greatest  emi- 
nence. His  Duchess  in  Shirley's  "Cardinal,"  was  the  most 
successful  of  his  youthful  parts.  After  the  Restoration,  he  laid 
down  Cassio  to  take  Othello  from  Burt,  by  the  King's  command, 
and  was  as  great  in  the  Moor  as  Betterton,  at  the  other  house,  was 
in  Hamlet.  His  Alexander,  which  he  created,  always  filled  the 
theatre ;  and  his  dignity  therein  was  said  to  convey  a  lesson  even 
to  kings.  His  Brutus  was  scarcely  inferior,  while  his  Catiline  was 
so  unapproachable,  that  when  he  died,  Jonson's  tragedy  died  with 
him.  Rymer  styles  him  and  Mohun,  the  ^^^^sopus  and  Roscius 
of  their  time.  When  they  acted  together  (Amintor  and  Melantius) 
in  the  "Maid's  Tragedy,"  the  town  asked  no  greater  treat.  Hart 
was  one  of  Pepys's  prime  favorites.  He  was  a  man  whose  pres- 
ence delighted  the  eye  before  his  accents  enchanted  the  ear.  The 
humblest  chari},cter  intrusted  to  him  was  distinguished  by  his 
careful  study.  On  the  stage  he  acknowledged  no  audience ;  their 
warmest  applause  could  never  draw  him  into  a  moment's  forget- 
fulness  of  his  assigned  character.  In  Manly,  "The  Plain  Dealer," 
as  in  Catiline,  he  never  found  a  successor  who  could  equal  him. 
His  salary  was,  at  the  most,  three  pounds  a  week,  but  he  is  said 
to  have  realized  £1,000  yearly,  after  he  became  a  shareholder  in 
the  theatre.  He  finally  rctii'ed  in  1682,  on  a  pension  amounting 
to  half  his  salary,  which  he  enjoyed,  however,  scarcely  a  year. 
He  died  of  a,  painful  iuwai'd  complaint  in  168;l,  and  was  buried 
at  Stanmore  Magna. 

Thei'e  is  a  tradition  that  IJart,  Mohun,  and  Betterton,  fought  on 
the  King's  side  at  Kdgehill,  in  1042.  The  last  named  was  then  a 
child,  and  some  things  ?(vq  attributed  to  Charles  Hart,  which  be- 
longed to  his  father.  If  Charles  was  but  eighteen  when  his  name- 
sake the  Kino;  returned  in  1660,  it  must  have  been  his  father  who 


THE  BOY  ^CTRE.-SES  AND  THE  YOUNG  LADIES.    53 

was  at  Edgeliill   with  Moluiii,  and  who,  perhaps,  played   female 
characters  in  his  early  days. 

Burt,  after  he  left  ott'  the  women's  gear,  acted  Cicero  with  rare 
ability,  in  "Catiline,"  for  the  getting  up  of  which  piece  Charles  II. 
contributed  £500  for  robes.  Of  Clun,  in  or  out  of  petticoats,  the 
record  is  brief.  His  lago  was  superior  to  Mohun's,  but  Lacy  excelled 
him  in  the  "Humorous  Lieutenant;"  but  as  Subtle,  in  the  "Alchy- 
mist,"  he  was  the  admiration  of  all  play-goers.  After  acting  this 
comic  part,  Clun  made  a  tragic  end  on  the  night  of  the  third  of 
August,  1664,  With  a  lady  hanging  on  his  arm,  and  some  liquor 
lying  under  his  belt,  he  was  gayly  passing  on  his  way  to  his 
country  lodgings  in  Kentish  Town,  where  he  was  assailed,  mur- 
dered, and  flung  into  a  ditch,  by  rogues,  one  of  whom  was  cap- 
tured, "  an  Irish  fellow  most  cruelly  butchered  and  bound."  "  The 
house  will  have  a  great  miss  of  him,"  is  the  epitapy  of  Pepys  upon 
versatile  Clun. 

Of  the  boys  belonging  to  Davenant's  Company,  who  at  first 
appeared  in  woman's  bodice  but  soon  found  their  occupation 
gone,  some  were  of  greater  fame  than  others.  One  of  these, 
Angel,  turned  from  waiting-maids  to  low  comedy,  caricatured 
Frenchmen  and  foolish  lords.  We  hear  nothing  of  him  after 
1673.  The  younger  Betterton,  as  I  have  said,  was  drowned  at 
Wallingford.  Mosely  and  Floid  represented  a  vulgar  class  of 
women,  and  both  died  before  the  year  1674;  but  Kynaston  and 
James  Nokes  long  survived  to  occupy  prominent  positions  on  the 
stage. 

Kynaston  made  "  the  loveliest  lady,"  for  a  boy,  ever  beheld  by 
Pepys.  This  was  in  1660,  when  Kynaston  played  Olympia,  the 
Duke's  sister,  in  the  "  Loyal  Subject ;"  and  went  with  a  young 
fellow-actor  to  carouse,  after  the  play,  with  Pepys  and  Captain 
Ferrers.  Kynaston  was  a  handsome  fellow  under  every  guise. 
On  the  7th  of  January,  1661,  says  Pepys,  "Tom  and  I,  and  my 
wife,  went  to  the  theatre,  and  there  saw  'The  Silent  Woman.' 
Among  other  things  here,  Kynaston,  the  boy,  had  the  good  turn 
to  appear  in  three  shapes :  First,  as  a  poor  woman,  in  ordinary 
clothes,  to  please  Morose ;  then,  in  fine  clothes  as  a  gallant — and 
in  them  was  clearly  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  whole  house ;  and 
lastly,  as  a  man — and  then  likewise  did  appear  the  handsomest 


54  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

mail  in  the  house."  When  the  phiy  was  concluded,  and  it  was 
not  the  hxd's  humor  to  carouse  with  the  men,  the  ladies  would 
seize  on  him,  in  his  theatrical  dress,  and,  carrying  him  to  Hyde 
Park  in  their  coaches,  be  foolishly  proud  of  the  precious  freight 
which  they  bore  with  them. 

Kynaston  was  not  invariably  in  such  good  luck.  There  was 
another  handsome  man,  Sir  Charles  Sedley,  whose  style  of  dress 
the  young  actor  aped ;  and  his  presumption  was  punished  by  a 
ruflian,  hired  by  the  baronet,  who  accosted  K3'naston  in  St.  James' 
Park,  as  "Sir  Charles,"  and  thrashed  him  in  that  character.  The 
actor  then  mimicked  Sir  Charles  on  the  stage.  A  consequence 
was,  that  on  the  30th  of  January,  1609,  Kynaston  was  waylaid  by 
three  or  four  assailants,  and  so  clubbed  by  them  that  there  was  no 
play  on  the  following  evening ;  and  the  victim,  mightily  bruised, 
was  forced  to  keep  his  bed.  He  did  not  recover  in  less  than  a 
week.  On  the  9th  of  February  he  reappeared,  as  the  King  of 
Tidore,  in  the  "  Island  Princess,"  which  "  he  do  act  very  well," 
says  Pepys,  "  after  his  beating  by  Sir  Charles  Sedley's  appointment." 

The  boy  who  used  to  play  Evadne,  and  now  enacted  the  tyrants 
of  the  drama,  retained  a  certain  beauty  to  the  last.  "  Even  at  past 
sixty,"  Cibber  tells  us,  "  his  teeth  were  all  sound,  white,  and  even 
as  one  would  wish  to  see  in  a  reigning  toast  of  twenty."  CoUey 
attributes  the  formal  gravity  of  Kynaston's  mien  "  to  the  stately 
step  lie  had  been  so  early  confined  to  in  a  female  decency."  The 
same  writer  praises  Kynaston's  Leon,  in  "  Rule  a  Wife  and  have  a 
Wife,"  for  its  determined  manliness  and  honest  authority.  In  the 
heroic  tyrants,  his  piercing  eye,  his  quick,  impetuous  tone,  and 
the  fierce,  lion-like  majesty  of  his  bearing  and  utterance,  "  gave 
the  spectator  a  kind  of  trembling  admiration." 

When  Cibber  played  Syphax,  in  "  Cato,"  he  did  it  as  he  thought 
Kynaston  would  have  done,  had  he  been  alive  to  impersonate  the 
character.  Kynaston  roared  through  the  bombast  of  some  of  the 
dramatists  with  a  laughable  earnestness;  but  in  Shakspeare's 
nionarchs  he  was  every  inch  a  king — dignified  and  natural.  The 
true  majesty  of  his  Henry  IV.  was  so  manifest,  that  when  he 
whispered  to  Hotspur,  "  Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of 
it,"  he  conveyed,  says  Cibber,  "  a  more  terrible  menace  in  it  than 
the  loudest  intemperance  of  voice  could  swell  to."     Again,  iu  the 


THE   BOY   ACTRESSES    AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        55 

interview  between  the  dying  king  and  his  son,  the  dignity,  majes- 
tic grief,  the  paternal  affection,  the  injured  kingly  feeling,  tlie 
pathos  and  the  justness  of  the  rebuke,  were  alike  remarkable.  The 
actor  was  equal  to  the  task  assigned  him  by  the  author, — putting 
forth  "  that  peculiar  and  becoming  grace,  which  the  best  writer 
cannot  inspire  into  any  actor  that  is  not  born  with  it." 

Kynaston  remained  on  the  stage  from  1659  to  1699.  By  this 
time,  his  memory  began  to  fail  and  his  spirit  to  leave  him.  These 
imperfections,  says  the  generous  Colley,  "  were  visibly  not  his  own, 
but  the  effects  of  decaying  nature."  But  Bettcrton's  nature  was 
not  thus  decaying  ;  and  his  labor  had  been  far  greater  than  that  of 
Kynaston,  who  created  only  a  score  of  original  characters,  the  best 
known  of  which  are,  Harcourt,  in  the  "  Country  Wife  ;"  Freeman, 
in  the  "  Plain  Dealer ;"  and  Count  Baldwin,  in  "  Isabella,  or  the 
Fatal  Marriage."  His  early  practice,  in  representing  female  char- 
acters, affected  his  voice  in  some  disagreeable  way.  "  What 
makes  you  feel  sick  ?"  said  Kynaston  to  Powell — suffering  from  a 
too  riotous  "  last  night."  "  How  can  I  feel  otherwise,"  asked 
Powell,  "  when  I  hear  your  voice  2" 

Edward  Kynaston  died  in  1712,  and  lies  buried  in  the  church- 
yard of  St.  Paul's,  Covent  Garden.  If  not  the  greatest  actor  of 
his  day,  Kynaston  was  the  greatest  of  the  "  boy-actresses."  So 
exalted  was  his  reputation,  "  that,"  says  Downes,  "  it  has  since 
been  disputable  among  the  judicious,  whether  any  woman  that 
succeeded  him,  so  sensibly  touched  the  audience  as  he." 

In  one  respect  he  was  more  successful  than  Betterton,  for  he 
not  only  made  a  fortune,  but  kept  what  he  had  made,  and 
left  it  to  his  only  son.  This  son  improved  the  bequest  by  his  in- 
dustry, as  a  mercer  in  Covent  Garden  ;  and,  probably  remember- 
ing that  he  was  well  descended  from  the  Kynastons  of  Oteley, 
Salop,  he  sent  his  own  son  to  college,  and  lived  to  see  him  oi*- 
dained.  This  Reverend  Mr.  Kynaston  purchased  the  impropria- 
tion of  Aldgate  ;  and,  despite  the  vocations  of  his  father  and  grand- 
father, but  in  consequence  of  the  prudence  and  liberality  of  both, 
was  willingly  acknowledged  by  his  Shropshire  kinsmen. 

Kynaston's  contemporary,  James  Nokes,  was  as  prudent  and  as 
fortunate  as  he ;  but  James  was  not  so  well  descended.  His 
father  (and  he  himself  for  a  time)  was  a  city  toyman — not  so  well 


56  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

to  do,  but  he  ullowed  his  sons  to  go  on  tlie  stage,  where  Robert 
was  a  respectable  actor,  and  James,  after  a  brief  exercise  of  female 
characters,  was  admirable  in  his  peculiar  line.  The  toyman's  son 
became  a  landholder,  and  made  of  his  nephew  a  lord  of  the  soil. 
Thus,  even  in  those  days  of  small  salaries,  players  could  build  up 
fortunes  ;  because  the  more  prudent  among  them  nursed  the  little 
they  could  spare,  with  care,  and  of  that  little  made  the  very 
utmost. 

Nokes  was,  to  the  last  night  of  his  career,  famous  for  his  un- 
personation  of  the  Nurse  in  two  plays  ;  first,  in  that  strange  adapta- 
tion by  Otway,  of  "  Romeo  and  Juliet"  to  a  Roman  tragedy, 
"  Caius  Marius ;"  and  secondly,  in  Nevil  Payne's  fierce,  yet  not 
bombastic  drama,  "  Fatal  Jealousy."  Of  the  portraits  to  be  found 
in  Gibber's  gallery,  one  of  the  most  perfect,  drawn  by  Colley's 
hand,  is  that  of  James  Nokes.  Gibber  attributes  his  general  ex- 
cellence to  "  a  plain  and  palpable  simplicity  of  nature,  which  was 
so  utterly  his  own,  that  he  was  often  as  accountably  diverting  in 
his  common  speech  as  on  the  stage."  Ilis  very  conversation  was 
an  unctuous  acting ;  and,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  he  was 
"  inimitable."  Gibber  himself,  accomplished  mimic  as  he  was, 
confessedly  failed  in  every  attempt  to  reproduce  the  voice  and 
manner  of  James  Nokes,  who  identified  himself  with  every  part 
so  easily,  as  to  reap  a  vast  amount  of  fame  at  the  cost  of  hardly 
an  hour's  study.  His  range  was  through  the  entire  realm  of  broad 
comedy,  and  Gibber  thus  photographs  him  for  the  entertainment 
of  posterity  : 

"  He  scarce  ever  made  his  first  entrance  in  a  play  but  he  was 
received  with  an  involuntary  applause ;  not  of  hands  only,  for 
those  may  be,  and  have  often  been,  partially  prostituted  and  be- 
spoken, but  by  a  general  laughter,  which  the  very  sight  of  him 
provoked,  and  nature  could  not  resist ;  yet  the  louder  the  laugh 
the  graver  was  his  look  upon  it;  and  sure  the  ridiculous  solemnity 
of  his  features  were  enough  to  have  set  a  whole  bench  of  bishops 
into  a  titter,  could  he  have  been  honored  (may  it  be  no  offence 
to  suppose  it)  with  such  grave  and  right  reverend  auditors.  In 
the  ludicrous  distresses  which,  by  the  laws  of  comedy,  folly  is 
often  involved  in,  he  sunk  into  such  a  mixture  of  piteous  pusil- 
lanimity, and  a  consternation  so  ruefully  ridiculous  and  inconsola- 


THE   BOY  AGTKESSKS   AND   THE   YOUXG    LADIES.        57 

ble,  that  when  he  had  shook  you  to  a  fatigue  of  laugliter,  it  be- 
came a  moot  point  whether  you  ought  not  to  have  pitied  him. 
When  he  debated  any  matter  by  himself,  he  would  shut  up  his 
mouth  with  a  dumb,  studious  pout,  and  roll  his  full  eye  into  such 
a  vacant  amazement,  such  a  palpable  ignorance  of  what  to  think 
of  it,  that  his  silent  perplexity  (which  would  sometimes  hold  him 
several  minutes)  gave  your  imagination  as  full  content  as  the  mo.-t 
absurd  thing  he  could  say  upon  it" 

This  great  comic  actor  was  naturally  of  a  grave  and  sober  coun- 
tenance ;  "  but  the  moment  he  spoke,  the  settled  seriousness  of  his 
features  was  utterly  discharged,  and  a  diy,  drolling,  or  laughing 
levity  took  such  full  possession  of  him,  that  I  can  only  refer  the 
idea  of  him  to  your  imagination."  Ilis  clear  and  audible  voice 
better  fitted  him  for  burlesque  heroes,  like  Jupiter  Amnion,  than 
his  middle  st^xturc ;  but  the  pompous  inanity  of  his  trav'estied 
pagan  divinity,  was  as  wonderful  as  the  rich  stolidity  of  his  con- 
tentedly ignorant  fools. 

There  was  no  actor  whom  the  City  so  rejoiced  in  as  Nokes , 
there  was  none  whom  the  Court  more  delighted  to  honor.  In  May, 
1670,  Charles  II.,  and  troops  of  courtiers,  went  down  to  Dover  to 
meet  the  Queen-mother,  and  took  with  them  the  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields  comedians.  When  Henrietta  Maria  arrived,  with  her  suite 
of  French  ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  latter  attired,  according  to  the 
prevailing  fashion,  in  very  short  blue  or  scarlet  laced  coats,  with 
broad  sword  belts,  the  English  comedians  played  before  the  royal 
host  and  his  guests,  the  play,  founded  on  Moliere's  "  Ecole  des 
Femmes,"  and  called  "  Sir  Solomon."  Nokes  acted  Sir  Arthur 
Addel,  in  dressing  for  which  part  he  was  assisted  by  the  Duke  of 
Monmouth.  In  order  that  he  might  the  better  ape  the  French  mode, 
the  duke  took  off  his  own  sword  and  belt,  and  buckled  them  to 
the  actor's  side.  At  his  first  entrance  on  the  stage.  King  and 
Court  broke  into  unextinguishable  laughter,  so  admirably  were  the 
foreign  guests  caricatured  ;  at  which  outrage  on  courtesy  and 
hospitality,  the  guests,  naturally  enough,  "  were  much  chagrined," 
says  Downes.  Nokes  retained  the  duke's  sword  and  belt  to  his 
dying  day,  which  fell  in  the  course  of  the  year  1692.  He  was  the 
original  representative  of  about  forty  characters,  in  plays  which 
have  long  since  disappeared  from  the  stage.  Charles  II.  was  the 
3* 


58  doran's  anxals  of  the  stage. 

first  who  recognized,  on  the  occasion  of  his  playincj  the  part  of 
Norfolk,  in  "  Henry  VIIL,"  tlie  merit  of  Nokes  as  an  actor. 

James  Nokes  left  to  his  nephew  something  better  than  the 
sword  and  belt  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  namely,  a  landed 
estate  at  Totteridge,  near  Barnet,  of  the  value  of  £400  a  year. 
Pepys  may  have  kissed  that  nephew's  mother,  on  the  August  day 
of  1665,  when  he  fell  into  company  near  Rochester  with  a  lady 
and  gentleman  riding  singly,  and  differing  as  to  the  merits  of  a 
copy  of  verses,  which  Pepys,  by  his  style  of  reading  aloud,  got  the 
husband  to  confess  that  they  were  as  excellent  as  the  Avife  had 
pronounced  them  to  be.  "  His  name  is  Nokes,"  writes  the  diarist, 
"  over  against  Bow  Church.  .  .  We  promised  to  meet,  if  ever 
we  come  both  to  London  again,  and  at  parting,  I  had  a  fair  salute 
on  horseback,  in  Rochester  streets,  of  the  lady." 

Having  thus  seen  the  curtain  fall  upon  the  once  "  boy  actresses," 
I  proceed  to  briefly  notice  the  principal  ladies  in  the  respective 
companies  of  Killigrew  and  Davenant,  commencing  with  those  of 
the  King's  House,  or  Theatre  Royal,  under  Killigrew's  manage 
ment,  chiefly  iu  Drury  Lane.  The  first  name  of  importance  in 
this  list  is  that  of  Mrs.  Hughes,  who,  on  the  stage  from  1663  to 
1676,  was  more  remarkable  for  her  beauty  than  for  her  great 
ability.  When  the  former,  in  1668,  subdued  Prince  Rupert,  there 
was  more  jubilee  at  the  Court  of  Cliarles  H.,  at  Tunbridge  Wells, 
than  if  the  philosophic  Prince  had  fallen  upon  an  invention  that 
should  benefit  mankind.  Rupert,  whom  the  plumed  gallants  of 
Whitehall  considered  as  a  rude  mechanic,  left  his  laboratory,  put 
aside  his  reserve,  and  wooed  in  due  form  the  proudest,  perhaps, 
of  the  actresses  of  her  day.  Only  in  the  May  of  that  year  Pepys 
had  saluted  her  with  a  kiss,  in  the  green-room  of  the  King's 
House.  She  was  then  reputed  to  be  the  intimate  friend  and 
favorite  of  Sir  Charles  Sedley ;  "  A  mighty  pretty  woman,"  saj's 
P(,'j)y.s,  "  and  seems,  but  is  not,  modest."  The  I'rincc  enshrined 
the  frail  beauty  in  that  home  of  Sir  Nicholas  Crispe,  at  Hammer- 
smith, which  was  subsequently  occupied  by  Bubb  Doddington, 
the  Margravine  of  Anspach,  and  Queen  Caroline  of  Brunswick. 
She  well-nigh  ruined  her  lover,  at  whose  death  there  was  little  left 
beside  a  collection  of  jewels,  worth  £20,000,  which  were  disposed 
uf  by  lottery,  in  order  to  pay  his  debts.     Mrs.  Hughes  was  not 


THE   BOY  ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        59 

unlike  lier  own  Mrs.  Moneylove  in  "  Tom  Essence,"  a  very  good 
sort  of  person  till  temptation  beset  her.  After  his  death  she 
squandered  much  of  the  estate  which  Rupert  had  left  to  her, 
chiefly  by  gambling.  Ilcr  contemporary,  Nell  Gywn,  purchased, 
a  celebrated  pearl  necklace  belonging  to  the  deceased  Prince  for 
£4,520,  a  purchase  which  must  have  taken  the  appearance  of  an 
insult,  in  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Hughes.  The  daughter  of  this  union, 
Ruperta,  who  shared  with  her  mother  the  modest  estate  bequeathed 
by  the  Prince,  married  General  Emanuel  Scrope  Howe.  One  of 
the  daughters  of  this  maniage  was  the  beautiful  and  reckless  maid 
of  honor  to  Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales,  whom  the  treachery  of 
Nanty  Lowther  sent  broken-heurted  to  the  grave,  in  1726. 
Through  Ruperta,  however,  the  blood  of  her  parents  is  still  con 
tinued  in  the  family  of  Sir  Edward  Bromley. 

Mrs.  Knipp  (or  Kncp)  was  a  different  being  from  Margaret 
Hughes,  She  was  a  pretty  creature,  with  a  sweet  voice,  a  mad 
humor,  and  an  ill-looking,  moody,  jealous  husband,  who  vexed  the 
soul  and  bruised  the  body  of  his  sprightly,  sweet-toned  and  way- 
ward wife.  Excellent  company  she  was  found  by  Pepys  and  his 
friends,  whatever  her  horse-jockey  of  a  husband  may  have  thought 
of  her,  or  Mrs.  Pepys  of  the  philandering  of  her  own  husband 
with  the  minx,  whom  she  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  a  "  wench," 
and  whom  Pepys  himself  speaks  of  aftectionatoly  as  a  "jade"  he 
was  always  glad  to  see.  Abroad  he  walks  with  her  in  the  New 
Exchange  to  look  for  pretty  faces ;  and  of  the  home  of  an  actress, 
in  1666,  we  have  a  sketch  in  the  record  of  a  visit  in  November, 
"To  Knipp's  lodgings,  whom  I  find  not  ready  to  go  home  with 
me  ;  and  there  staid  reading  of  Waller's  verses,  while  she  finished 
dressing,  her  husband  being  by.  Her  lodging  very  mean,  and  the 
condition  she  lives  in ;  yet  makes  a  show  without  doors,  God 
bless  us  1" 

Mrs.  Knipp's  characters  embraced  the  rakish  fine  ladies,  the 
rattling  ladies' -maids,  one  or  two  tragic  parts  ;  and  where  singing 
was  required,  priestesses,  nuns,  and  milk-maids.  As  one  of  the 
latter,  Pepys  was  enchanted  at  her  appearance,  with  her  hair  sim- 
ply turned  up  in  a  knot  behind. 

Her  intelligence  was  very  great,  her  simple  style  of  dressing 
much  commended ;  and  she  could  deliver  a  prologue  as  deftly  a 


60  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

slie  could  either  sing  or  dance,  and  with  as  much  grace  as  she  was 
wont  to  throw  into  raanifestations  of  touclilng  grief  or  tenderness. 
She  disappears  from  the  hills  in  1678,  after  a  fourteen  years'  ser- 
vice ;  and  there  is  no  further  reci)rd  of  tlie  life  of  Mistress  Knipp. 

Anne  and  Rebecca  Maishall  are  names  which  one  can  only 
reluctantly  associate  with  that  of  Stephen  Marshall  the  divine,  wlio 
is  said  to  have  been  their  father.  The  Long  Parliament  frequently 
commanded  the  eloquent  incumbent  of  Finchingfield,  Essex,  to 
preach  before  them.  Cambridge  University  was  as  proud  of  him 
as  a  distinguished  alumnus,  a^  Huntingdonshire  was  of  having  him 
for  a  son.  In  aftaii's  of  religion  he  was  the  oracle  of  Parliament, 
and  his  advice  was  sought  even  in  political  difficulties.  He  was  a 
mild  and  conscientious  man,  of  whom  Baxter  remarked,  that  "  if 
all  the  bishops  had  been  of  the  spirit  and  tempcn-  of  Usher,  the 
presbyterians  of  the  temper  of  Mr.  Marshall,  and  tlie  independents 
like  Mr.  Burroughs,  the  divisions  of  the  Church  wcnxld  have  been 
easily  compromised."  Stephen  Marshall  was  a  man  who,  in  his 
practice,  "  preached  his  sermons  o'er  again  ;"  and  Firmin  describes 
him  as  an  "  example  to  the  believers  in  word,  in  conversation,  in 
charity,  in  faith,  and  in  purity."  He  died  full  of  honors  and  under- 
standing ;  and  Westminster  Abbey  afforded  him  a  grave,  from 
which  he  was  ruthlessly  ejected  at  the  R<>storation.  It  is  hardly 
possible  to  believe  that  such  a  saint  was  the  father  of  the  two 
beautiful  actresses  whom  Nell  Gwyn  taunted  with  being  the  erring 
daughters  of  a  "  praying  Presbyterian." 

On  the  other  hand,  we  learn  from  Sir  Peter  Leicester's  History 
of  Cheshire,  that  the  royalist,  Lord  Gerard  of  Bromley,  retained 
this  stanch  Presbyterian  in  his  house  as  his  chaplain.  Further, 
we  are  told  that  this  chaplain  mai-ried  a  certain  illegitimate  Eliza- 
beth, whose  father  was  a  Dutton  of  Dutton,  and  that  of  this  mar- 
riage came  Anne  and  Rebecca.  As  Sir  Peter  was  himself  con- 
nected with  both  the  Gerards  and  Dnttons  by  marriage,  he  must 
be  held  as  speaking  with  some  authoiity  in  this  matter. 

Pepys  says  of  Anne  Marshall,  that  her  voice  was  "  not  so  sweet 
as  Ian the's,"  meaning  Mrs.  P)ctterton's.  Rebecca  had  a  beautiful 
hand,  was  very  imposing  on  the  stage,  and  even  oft'  of  it  was 
"mighty  fine,  pretty,  and  noble."  She  had  the  reputation  of 
facilitating   the  intrigue  which  Lady  Castlemainc   kept    up    witb 


THE    BOY   ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        61 

Hart,  the  actor,  to  avenge  herself  on  the  King  because  of  his  ad- 
miration for  Mrs.  Davics.  One  of  her  finest  parts  was  Dorothea, 
in  the  "  Virgin  Martyr ;"  and  her  Queen  of  Sicily  (an  "  up-hill" 
part)  to  Nell  Gwyn's  Florimel,  in  Dryden's  "  Secret  Love,"  was 
highly  appreciated  by  the  play-going  public. 

With  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Corey,  the  mimic,  and  pleasing 
little  Mrs.  Boutel,  who  realized  a  fortune,  with  her  girlish  voice 
and  manner,  and  her  supremely  iimocent  and  fascinating  ways, 
justifying  the  intensity  of  love  with  which  she  inspired  youthful 
heroes,  the  only  other  actress  of  the  King's  company  worth  men- 
tioning is  Nell  Gwyn ;  but  Nell  was  the  crown  of  them  all,  win- 
ning hearts  throughout  her  jubilant  career,  beginning  in  her  early 
girlhood  with  that  of  a  link-boy,  and  ending  in  her  womanhood 
with  that  of  the  king. 

Nell  Gywn  is  claimed  by  the  Herefordshire  people.  In  Here- 
ford city,  a  mean  house  in  the  rear  of  the  Oak  Inn  is  pointed 
out  as  the  place  of  her  birth.  The  gossips  there  little  thought 
that  a  child  so  humbly  born  would  be  the  mother  of  a  line  of 
dukes,  or  that  her  great-grandson  should  be  the  bishop  of  her 
native  town,  and  occupy  for  foi-ty  years  the  episcopal  palace  in 
close  proximity  to  the  poor  cottage  in  which  the  archest  of  hussies 
first  saw  the  light. 

But  the  claims  of  Pipe  Lane,  Hereford,  are  disputed  by  Coal 
Yard,  Drury  Lane,  and  also  by  Oxford,  where  Nell's  father,  James 
Gwyn,  a  " captain,"  according  to  some,  a  fruiterer  accoiding  to 
others,  died  in  prison.  The  captain  with  his  wife  Helena,  some- 
while  a  resident  in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  had  two  daughters,  Nell  and 
Rose.  The  latter  married  a  Captain  Capels,  and,  secondly,  a  Mr. 
Foster ;  little  else  is  known  of  her,  save  that  her  less  reputable 
sister  left  her  a  small  legacy,  and  that  she  survived  till  the  year 
1697.  Nelly  was  born  early  in  1650;  and  tradition  states  that 
she  very  early  ran  away  from  her  country  home  to  town,  and 
studied  for  the  stage  by  going  every  night  to  the  play.  I  suspect 
Coal  Yard  was  her  first  bower,  that  thence  she  issued  to  cry 
"  fresh  herrings !"  and  captivate  the  hearts  of  susceptible  link- 
boys  ;  and  passed,  from  being  liander  of  strong  waters  to  the  gen- 
tlemen who  patronized  Madame  floss's  house,  to  taking  her  place 
in  the  pit,  with  her  back  to  the  orchestra,  and  selling  oranges  and 


62  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

pippins,  with  pertinent  wit  gratis,  to  liberal  fops  wlio  would  buy 
the  first  and  return  the  second  with  interest.  As  Rochester 
assures  us,  there  was  a  "  wondering  pit"  in  presence  of  this  smart- 
est and  most  audacious  of  orange-girls.  It  was  natural  enough 
that  she  should  attract  the  notice  of  the  actors,  that  Lacy  should 
give  her  instruction,  and  that  from  Charles  Hart  she  should  take 
that  and  all  the  love  he  could  pay  her.  The  latter  two  were 
spoken  of  in  prologues,  long  after  both  were  dead,  as  "those 
darlings  of  the  stage." 

Under  the  auspices  of  Charles  Hart,  Nelly  made  her  first  ap- 
pearance at  the  (King's)  theatre,  in  a  serious  part,  Cydaria,  in 
the  "  Indian  Emperor."  She  was  then  not  more  than  fifteen, 
though  some  say  seventeen,  years  of  age.  For  tragedy  she  was 
unfitted :  her  stature  was  low,  though  her  figure  was  graceful ;  and 
it  was  not  till  she  assumed  comic  characters,  stamped  the  smallest 
foot  in  England  on  the  boards,  and  laughed  with  that  peculiar 
laugh  that,  in  the  excess  of  it,  her  eyes  almost  disappeared,  she 
fairly  carried  away  the  town,  and  enslaved  the  hearts  of  city  and 
of  court.  She  spoke  prologues  and  epilogues  with  wonderful 
effect,  danced  to  perfection,  and  in  her  peculiar  but  not  extensive 
line  was,  perhaps,  unequalled  for  the  natural  feeling  which  she  put 
into  the  parts  most  suited  to  her.  She  Avas  so  fierce  of  repartee 
that  no  one  ventured  a  second  time  to  allude  sneeringly  to  her 
antecedents.  She  was  coarse,  too,  when  the  hurnor  took  her; 
could  curse  pretty  strongly  if  the  house  was  not  full,  and  was 
given,  in  common  Avith  the  other  ladies  of  the  company,  to  loll 
about  and  talk  loudly  in  the  public  boxes,  when  she  was  not 
engaged  on  the  stage.  She  left  both  stage  and  boxes  for  a  time, 
in  1667,  to  keep  mad  house  at  Epsom  with  the  clever  Lord  Buck- 
hurst — a  man  who  for  one  youthful  vice  exhibited  a  thousand 
manly  virtues.  The  story,  that  Lord  Buckhurst  separated  from 
Mistress  Gwyn  for  a  money  consideration  and  a  title,  can  be  dis- 
proved by  the  testimony  of  a  character  which  all  Peru  could  not 
have  influenced,  and  of  chronology,  which  sets  the  story  at 
naught. 

They  who  would  read  Buckhurst's  true  character,  will  find  it 
in  the  eloquent  and  graceful  dedication  which  Prior  made  of  his 
poems  to  Buckhurst's  son,  Lionel.     Like  the  first  Sackville,  of 


THE   BOY    ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        63 

the  line  of  the  Earls  of  Dorset,  he  was  himself  a  poet;  and  "To 
all  you  ladies  now  on  land,"  although  not  quite  the  impromptu  it 
is  said  to  have  been,  is  an  evidence  how  gracefully  he  could  strike 
the  lyre  on  the  eve  of  a  great  battle.  In  short,  Buckhurst,  who 
took  Nelly  from  the  stage,  and  who  found  Prior  iu  a  coffee-shop 
and  added  him  to  literature,  was  a  "man,"  brave,  truthful,  gay, 
honest,  and  universally  beloved.  He  was  the  people's  favorite ; 
and  Pope  assures  us,  when  Buckhurst  had  become  Earl  of  Dorset, 
that  he  was  "  the  grace  of  courts,  the  muses'  pride." 

After  a  year's  absence.  Mistress  Gwyn  returned  to  the  stage. 
In  all  nature,  there  was  nothing  better  than  she,  in  certain  parts. 
Pepys  never  hoped  to  see  any  thing  like  her  in  Florimel,  with  her 
changes  of  sex  and  costume.  She  was  little,  pretty,  and  witty ; 
danced  perfectly,  and  with  such  applause,  that  authors  would  fain 
have  appropriated  the  approbation  bestowed  on  her  "jig,"  to  the 
play  in  which  it  was  introduced.  A  play,  without  Nell,  was  no 
play  at  all  to  Mr.  Pepys.  When,  in  1667,  she  followed  Buck- 
hurst to  Epsom,  and  flung  up  her  parts  and  an  honestly  earned 
salary  for  a  poor  £100  a  year,  Pepys  exclaims,  "  Poor  girl !  I  pity 
her ;  but  more  the  loss  of  her  at  the  King's  house."  The  Ad- 
miralty clerk's  admiration  was  confined  to  her  merry  characters ; 
he  speaks  of  her  Emperor's  Daughter,  in  the  "  Indian  Emperor," 
as  "  a  great  and  serious  part,  which  she  does  most  basely." 

Her  own  party  hailed  her  return ;  but  she  did  not  light  upon  a 
bed  of  roses.  Lady  Castlemaine  was  no  longer  her  patroness — 
rather  that  and  more  of  Nelly's  old  lover,  Charles  Hart,  who 
flouted  the  ex-favorite  of  Buckhurst.  That  ex-favorite,  however, 
bore  with  equal  indifference  the  scorn  of  Charles  Hart  and  the 
contempt  of  Charles  Sackville ; — she  saw  compensation  for  both, 
in  the  royal  homage  of  Charles  Stuart.  Meanwhile,  she  con- 
tinued to  enchant  the  town  in  comedy,  to  "  spoil"  serious  parts  in 
Sir  Robert  Howard's  mixed  pieces,  and  yet  to  act  with  great 
success  characters,  in  which  natural  emotion,  bordering  on  in- 
sanity, was  to  be  represented.  Early  in  1668,  we  find  her  among 
the  loose  companions  of  King  Charles ;  "  and  I  am  sorry  for  it," 
says  Pepys,  "  and  can  hope  for  no  good  to  the  state,  from  having 
a  Prince  so  devoted  to  his  pleasure."  The  writers  for  the  stage 
were  of  a  like  opinion.     Howard  wrote  his  "  Duke  of  Lerma," 


64  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

as  a  vehicle  of  reproof  to  the  Khig,  who  sat,  a  careless  auditor, 
less  troubled  than  Pepys  himself,  who  expected  that  the  play 
would  be  interrupted  by  royal  authority.  The  last  of  her  original 
characters  was  that  of  Almahide,  in  Dryden's  "  Conquest  of 
Granada,"  the  prologue  to  which  she  spoke  in  a  straw  hat  as  broad 
as  a  cartwheel,  and  thereby  almost  killed  the  King  with  laughter, 
ill  this  piece,  her  old  lover.  Hart,  played  Almanzor;  and  his 
position  with  respect  to  King  Boabdelin  (Kynaston)  and  Almahide 
(Nelly)  corresponds  with  that  in  which  he  stood  towards  King 
Charles  and  the  actress.  The  passages  reminding  the  audience  of 
this  complex  circumstance  threw  the  house  into  "  convulsions." 

From  this  time,  Ellen  Gwyn  disappears  from  the  stage.  A 
similar  sui-name  appears  in  the  play-bills  from  1670  to  1682;  but 
there  is  no  ground  for  believing  that  the  "  Madame  Gwyn"  of  the 
later  period  was  the  Mrs.  Ellen  of  the  earlier,  poorer,  and  merrier 
times.  Nelly's  first  son,  Charles  Beauclerc,  was  born  in  her  house 
in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  in  Ma}^,  1670;  her  second,  in  the  follow- 
ing year,  at  her  liouse  in  Pall  Mall,  the  garden  terrace  of  which 
overlooked  the  then  green  walk  in  the  park,  from  which  Evelyn 
saw,  with  shame,  the  King  talking  with  the  impudent  "  comedian." 
This  younger  son,  James,  died  at  Paris,  1680.  The  elder  had 
Otway  for  a  tutor.  In  his  sixth  year  he  was  created  Earl  of 
Burford,  and  in  his  fourteenth  was  created  a  duke.  His  mother  had 
addressed  liim,  in  the  King's  hearing,  by  an  epithet  referring  to 
his  illegitimacy,  on  the  plea  that  she  did  not  know  by  what  title 
to  call  him.  Charles  made  him  an  earl.  Accident  of  death 
raised  him  to  a  dukedom.  Harry  Jermyn,  Earl  of  St.  Albans,  of 
whom  report  made  the  second  husband  of  Henrietta  Maria,  had 
just  died.  Blind  as  he  had  been,  he  had  played  cards  to  the  last 
— some  one  sitting  near  him  to  tell  him  the  points.  At  an  age 
approaching  to  ninety  years,  he  had  passed  away.  Charles  gave 
the  name  of  St.  Albans,  with  the  title  of  duke,  to  Nell  Gwyn's 
eldest  son,  adding  thereto  the  registrarship  of  the  High  Court  of 
Chancery,  and  the  office  (rendered  hereditary)  of  Master  Falconer 
of  England.  The  present  and  tenth  Duke  of  St.  Albans  is  the 
\ineal  descendant  of  Charles  Stuart  and  Ellen  Gwyn. 

The  King  had  demurred  to  a  request  to  settle  £500  a  year  on 
this  lady,  and  yet  within  four  years  she  is  known  to  have  exacted 


THE    BOY    ACTRESSES    AND    THE    YOUNG    LADIES.         Go 

from  him  above  £80,000.  Suhsequeutly,  £6,000,  annually,  were 
tossed  to  her  from  the  Excise, — that  hardest  taxation  of  the  poor, 
— and  £3,000  more  -were  added  for  the  expenses  of  each  son.  She 
blazed  publicly  at  Whitehall,  witli  diamonds  out-flashing  those 
usually  worn,  as  Evelyn  has  it,  "  by  the  like  cattle."  At  Burford 
House,  Windsor,  her  gorgeous  country  residence,  she  could  gayly 
'i)se  £1,400  in  one  night  at  basset,  and  purchase  diamond  neck- 
laces the  next  day,  at  fabulous  prices.  Negligent  dresser  as  she 
was,  she  always  looked  fascinating;  and  fascinating  as  she  was, 
she  had  a  ready  fierceness  and  a  bitter  sarcasm  at  hand,  when 
other  royal  favorites,  or  sons  of  favorites,  assailed  or  sneered  at 
her.  With  the  King  and  his  brother  she  bandied  jokes  as  freely 
•<js  De  Pompadour  or  Du  Barry  with  Louis  XV.  By  impulse, 
she  could  be  charitable ;  but  by  neglecting  the  claims  of  her  own 
creditors,  she  could  be  cruel.  Charles  alluded  to  her  extravagance 
when,  on  his  death-bed,  he  recommended  those  shameless  women, 
Cleveland  and  Portsmouth,  to  his  brother's  kindness,  and  hoped 
he  would  "  not  let  Nelly  starve."  An  apocryphal  story  attributes 
the  founding  of  Chelsea  Hospital  to  Nelly's  tendei'ness  for  a  poor 
old  wounded  soldier  who  had  been  cheated  of  his  pay.  The 
dedications  to  her  of  books  by  such  people  as  Aphra  Behn  and 
Duffet  are  blasphemous  in  their  expressions,  making  of  her,  as  they 
do,  a  sort  of  divine  essence,  and  becoming  satirical  by  their  ex- 
aggerated and  disgusting  eulogy.  For  such  a  person,  the  pure 
and  pious  Bishop  Kenn  was  once  called  upon  to  yield  up  an 
apartment  in  which  he  lodged,  and  the  peerage  had  a  narrow 
escape  of  having  her  foisted  upon  it  as  Countess  of  Greenwich. 
This  clever  actress  died  in  November,  1687,  of  a  fit  of  apoplexy, 
by  which  she  had  been  stricken  in  the  previous  March.  She  was 
then  in  her  thirty-eighth  year.  She  had  been  endowed  like  a 
-princess,  but  she  left  debts,  and  died  just  in  time  to  allow  James 
to  discharge  them  out  of  the  public  purse.  Finally,  she  was 
carried  to  old  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields  to  be  buried,  and  Ten- 
nison  preached  her  funeral  sermon.  Wlien  this  was  subsequently 
made  the  ground  of  exposing  him  to  the  reproof  of  Queen  Mary, 
she  remarked,  that  the  good  doctor,  no  doubt,  had  said  nothing 
but  what  the  facts  authorized. 

In  the  time  of  Nelly's  most  brilliant  fortunes,  the  people  who 


GO  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

laiiglied  at  her  wit  and  impudence  publicly  contemned  her.  In 
Febvaary,  1680,  she  visited  the  Duke's  Theatre,  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  on  which  occasion  a  person  in  the  pit  called  her  loudly 
by  a  name  which,  to  do  her  justice,  she  never  repudiated.  The 
aifront,  which  she  herself  could  laugh  at,  was  taken  up  by  William 
Iferbert,  brother  of  Philip,  Eai-1  of  Pembroke,  who  had  married 
the  younger  sister  of  another  of  the  King's  favorite^  Henrietta  de 
Qiierouaille.  The  audience  took  part,  some  with  the  assailant, 
others  with  the  champion  of  Nelly.  Many  swords  were  drawn, 
the  sorrows  of  the  "  Orphan"  were  suspended,  there  was  a  hubbub 
in  the  house,  and  more  scratches  given  than  blood  spilt.  That 
Nelly  found  a  knight  in  Thomas  Herbert  only  proves  that  a  hot- 
headed young  gentleman  may  become  a  very  sage  as  years  grow 
upon  hira.  Tliis  Thomas,  when  Earl  of  Pembroke,  was  "first 
plenipotentiary"  at  the  making  of  the  treaty  of  Ryswick,  and 
Chief  Commissioner  in  establishing  the  Union  of  England  and 
Scotland.  His  excellent  taste  and  liberality  laid  the  foundations 
of  the  collection  of  antiques  which  yet  attracts  visitors  to  Wilton. 
But  love  for  leading  play-house  factions  did  not  die  out  in  his 
family.  Four  and  forty  years  after  he  had  drawn  sword  for  the 
reputation  of  Nell  Gwyn,  his  third  Countess,  Mary,  sister  of  Vis- 
count Howe,  headed  the  Cnzzoni  party  at  the  Opera-house  against 
the  Faustina  faction,  led  by  the  Countess  of  Burlington  and  Lady 
Delawar.  Whenever  Faustina  opened  her  mouth  to  sing.  Lady 
Pembroke  and  her  friends  hissed  the  singer  heartily;  and  as  soon 
as  Cnzzoni  made  a  similar  attempt,  Lady  Burlington  and  her  fol- 
lowers shrieked  her  into  silence.  Lord  Pembroke  sat  by,  think- 
ing, perhaps,  of  the  young  days  when  he  was  the  champion  of  Nell 
Gwyn,  or  of  Margaret  Symcolt,  if  an  old  tradition  be  true  that 
such  was  Nelly's  real  name. 

Of  the  ladies  who  played  at  the  Duke's  House,  under  Davcnaiit, 
the  principal  were  Mrs.  Davenport,  Mrs.  Davies,  Mrs,  Gibbs,  Mrs. 
Holden,  Mrs,  Jennings,  Mrs.  Long,  and  Mrs.  Norris.  Chief  among 
these  were  Mistresses  Davenport,  Davies,  Sannderson,  and  Long. 
Mrs.  Davenport  is  remembered  as  the  Koxalana  of  Davcnant's 
"  Siege  of  Rliodes,"  which  she  played  so  well  that  Pepys  could 
not  forget  her  in  either  of  her  successors,  Mrs.  Betterton  or  Mrs. 
Norton.     She  is  still  better  remembered  in  connection  with  a  story 


THE   BOY   ACTRESSES   AND   THE   YOUIn^G   LADIES.        G7 

of  which  she  is  the  heroine,  although  that  character  in  it  has  been 
ascribed  to  others. 

Aubrey  de  Vere,  the  twentieth  Earl  of  Oxford,  was  the  last  of 
his  house  who  held  that  title,  but  the  one  who  held  it  the  longest, 
namely,  seventy  years,  from  1632  to  1702.  Aubrey  de  Vere 
despised  the  old  maxim,  "  Noblesse  oblige."  He  lived  a  royster- 
ing  life,  kept  a  roystering  house,  and  was  addicted  to  hard  drink- 
ing, rough  words,  and  unseemly  brawling  and  sword-slashing,  in 
his  cups.  Tlie  young  earl  made  love,  after  the  fashion  of  the  day 
and  the  man,  to  Mrs.  Davenport ;  but  he  might  as  well  have  made 
love  to  Diana ;  and  it  was  not  till  he  proposed  marriage  that  the 
actress  condescended  to  listen  to  his  suit.  The  lovers  were  pri- 
vately married,  and  the  lady  was,  in  the  words  of  old  Downes, 
"  crept  the  stage."  The  honeymoon,  however,  was  speedily  ob- 
scured ;  Lord  Oxford  grew  indifferent  and  brutal.  When  the  lady 
talked  of  her  rights,  he  informed  her  that  she  was  not  Countess  of 
Oxford  at  all.  The  apparent  reverend  gentleman  who  had  per- 
formed the  ceremony  of  marriage  was  a  trumpeter,  who  served 
under  this  very  noble  lord  in  the  King's  own  regiment  of  cavalry. 
The  forlorn  fair  one,  after  threatening  suicide,  sought  out  the  King, 
fell  at  his  feet,  and  demanded  justice.  The  award  was  made  in 
the  shape  of  an  annuity  of  £300  a  year,  with  which  "  Lord  Ox- 
ford's Miss,"  as  Evelyn  calls  her,  seems  to  have  been  satisfied  and 
consoled ;  for  Pepys,  soon  after,  being  at  the  play,  "  saw  the  old 
Roxalana  in  the  chief  box,  in  a  velvet  gown,  as  the  fashion  is,  and 
very  handsome,  at  which  I  was  glad." 

As  for  Miss  Mary  Davies,  it  is  uncertain  whether  she  was  1  he 
daughter  of  a  Wiltshire  blacksmith,  or  tlie  less  legitimate  offspring 
of  Thomas  Howard,  the  first  Earl  of  Berkshire,  or  of  the  earl's 
son — not  the  poet,  but  the  colonel.  However  this  may  be,  Mary 
Davies  was  early  on  the  stage,  where  she  danced  well,  played 
moderately  ill,  announced  the  next  afternoon's  performance  with 
grace,  and  won  an  infamous  distinction  at  the  King's  hands,  by 
her  inimitable  singing  of  the  old  song  of  "  My  lodging  is  on  the 
cold  ground."  Then  there  was  the  publicly  furnishing  of  a  house 
for  her,  and  the  presentation  of  a  ring  worth  £600,  and  much 
scandal  to  good  men  and  honest  women.  Thereupon  Miss  Daviea 
grew  an  "impertinent  slut,"  and  my  Lady  Castlemaine  waxed 


68  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

melancholy,  and  meditated  miscliief  against  her  royal  and  fickle 
lover.  The  patient  Queen  herself  was  moved  to  anger  by  the  new 
position  of  Miss  Davies,  and  vs^hen  the  latter  appeared  in  a  play  at 
Whitehall,  in  which  she  was  about  to  dance,  her  Majesty  rose  and 
left  the  house.  But  neither  the  offended  dignity  of  the  Queen, 
nor  Lady  Castlemaine  "  looking  fire,"  nor  the  bad  practical  jokes 
of  Nell  Gwyn,  could  loose  the  King  from  the  temporary  enchant- 
ment to  which  he  surrendered  himself.  Their  daughter  was  that 
Mary  Tudor,  who  married  the  second  Earl  of  Derwentwater,  whose 
son,  the  third  earl,  was  the  gallant  young  fellow  who  lost  his  head 
for  aid  afforded  to  his  cousin,  the  first  Pretender,  in  1715.  Before 
his  death,  a  request  was  made  to  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  son  of 
Charles  II.,  by  Madlle.  de  Querouaille,  to  present  a  memorial  to 
the  Lords  in  order  to  save  the  young  earl's  life.  The  duke  pre- 
sented the  memorial,  but  he  added  his  earnest  hope  that  their 
lordships  would  reject  the  prayer  of  it !  In  such  wise  did  the  ille- 
gitimate Stuarts  play  brother  to  each  other !  Through  the  mar- 
riage of  the  daughter  of  Lord  Derwentwater  with  the  eighth  Lord 
Petre,  the  blood  of  the  Stuart  and  of  Moll  Davies  still  runs  in  their 
lineal  descendant,  the  present  and  twelfth  lord. 

Happy  are  the  women  who  have  no  histories !  Such  is  the  case 
with  Miss  Saunderson,  better  known  to  us  as  Mrs.  Betterton.  For 
about  thirty  years  she  played  the  chief  female  characters,  especially 
in  Shakspeare's  plays,  with  great  success.  She  created  as  many 
new  parts  as  she  played  years ;  but  they  were  in  old-world  pieces, 
which  have  been  long  forgotten.  In  the  home  which  she  kept 
with  her  husband,  charity,  hospitality,  and  dignity  abided.  So 
unexceptional  was  Mrs.  Betterton's  character,  that  when  Crowne's 
"Calista"  was  to  be  played  at  court  in  1674,  shevvas  chosen  to  be 
instructress  to  the  Lady  Mary  and  the  Lady  Anne.  These  prin- 
cesses derived  from  Mrs.  Betterton's  lessons  the  accomplishment 
for  which  both  were  distinguished  when  queens,  of  pronouncing 
speeches  from  the  throne  in  a  distinct  and  clear  voice,  with  sweet- 
ness of  intonation,  and  grace  of  enunciation.  Mrs.  Betterton  sub- 
sequently instructed  the  Princess  Anne  in  the  part  of  Semandra, 
and  her  husband  did  the  like  office  for  the  young  noblemen  who 
also  played  in  Lee's  rattling  tragedy  of  "  Mithridatcs."  Two  indi- 
viduals, better  qualified  by  their  professioiud  skill  and  their  moral 


THE   EOY  ACTRESSES  AND   THE   YOUNG   LADIES.        h) 

character,  to  instruct  the  young  princesses  and  courtiers,  and  to 
exercise  over  them  a  wholesome  authority,  could  not  then  have 
been  found  on  or  off  the  stage.  After  Betterton's  death,  Queen 
Anne  settled  on  her  old  teacher  of  elocution  a  pension  of  £500  a 
year. 

Of  the  remainder  of  the  actresses  who  first  joined  Davenant, 
there  is  nothing  recorded,  except  their  greater  or  less  efiicieucy. 
Of  Mrs.  Holden,  Betterton's  kinswoman,  the  only  incident  that  I 
can  recall  to  mind  is,  that  once,  by  the  accidental  mispronuncia- 
tion of  a  word,  when  playing' in  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  giving 
it  "  a  vehement  action,  it  put  the  house  into  such  a  laughter,  that 
London  Bridge  at  low  water  was  silence  to  it !"  Under  its  echoes 
let  us  pass  to  the  "  gentlemen  of  the  King's  Company." 


70  doran's  annals  of  the  STAaiL 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    GENTLEMEN    OF   THE    KING's    COMPANY. 

Of  the  king's  company,  under  Killigrew — Hart,  Burt,  and  Clun 
have  already  been  noticed  as  players'  who  commenced  their  career 
by  acting  female  parts.  Of  the  other  early  members  of  this  troop, 
the  first  names  of  importance  are  those  of  Lacy,  and  little  Major 
INIohun,  the  low  comedian,  and  the  high  tragedian.  Of  those 
who  precede  them  alphabetically,  but  little  remains  on  record. 
We  only  know  of  Theophilus  Bird,  that  he  broke  his  leg  when 
dancing  in  Suckling's  "  Aglaui'a,"  probably  when  the  poet  changed 
his  tragedy,  in  which  the  characters  killed  each  other,  into  a  sort 
of  comedy,  in  which  they  all  survived.  Cartwright,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  left  a  lasting  memorial.  If  you  would  see  how  the  kind 
old  fellow  looked,  go  down  to  Dulwich  College — that  grand  insti- 
tution, for  which  actors  have  done  so  much  and  which  has  done  so 
little  for  actors — and  gaze  on  his  portrait  there.  It  is  the  picture 
of  a  man  who  bequeathed  his  books,  pictures,  and  furniture,  to 
the  College  which  AUeyn,  another  actor,  had  founded.  In  early 
life,  Cartwright  had  been  a  bookseller,  at  the  corner  of  Turnstile, 
Holborn ;  and  in  his  second  vocation  his  great  character  was 
Falstaff. 

Lacy  was  a  great  Falstaff,  too ;  and  his  portrait,  a  triple  one, 
painted  by  Wright  and  etched  by  Hopkins,  one  of  the  Princess 
Elizabeth's  pages,  is  familiarly  known  to  Hampton  Court  visitors. 
Lacy  had  been  first  a  dancing-master,  then  a  lieutenant  in  the 
army,  before  he  tried  the  stage.  In  his  day  he  had  no  equal ;  and 
his  admirers  denied  that  the  day  to  come  would  ever  see  his  equal. 
Lacy  was  handsome,  both  in  shape  and  feature,  and  is  to  be  remem- 
bered as  the  original  performer  of  Teague,  in  the  "  Committee  ;"  a 
play  of  Howard's,  subsequently  cut  down  to  the  farce  of  "  Killing, 
no  Murder."  And  eight  years  later  ( 1671),  taught  by  Bucking- 
ham, and  mimicking  Dryden,  he  startled  the  town  with  that  im- 


THE   GENTLEMEN   OF   THE   KING  S   COMPANY.  71 

mortal  Bayes,  in  the  "  Rehearsal ;"  a  part  so  full  of  happy  oppor- 
tunities that  it  was  cc>veted  or  essayed  for  many  years,  not  only 
by  every  great  actor,  whatever  his  line,  but  by  many  an  actress', 
too  ;  and  last  of  all  by  William  Farren,  in  1819. 

There  was  nothing  within  the  bounds  of  comedy  that  Lacy 
could  not  act  well.  Evelyn  styles  him  "  Roscius."  Frenchman,  or 
Scot  or  Irishman,  fine  gentleman  or  fool,  rogue  or  honest  simple- 
ton, TartufFe  or  Drench,  old  man  or  loquacious  woman, — in  all, 
Lacy  was  the  delight  of  the  town  for  about  a  score  of  years.  The 
king  ejected  the  best  players  from  parts,  considered  almost  as 
their  property,  and  assigned  them  to  Lacy.  His  wardrobe  was  a 
spectacle  of  itself,  and  gentlemen  of  leisure  and  curiosity  went  to 
see  it.  He  took  a  positive  enjoyment  in  parts  which  enabled  him 
to  rail  at  the  rascalities  of  courtiers.  Sometimes  this  Aristophanic 
license  went  too  far.  In  Howard's  "  Silent  Woman,"  the  sarcasms 
reached  the  King,  and  moved  his  majesty  to  wrath,  and  to  locking 
up  Lacy  himself  in  the  Porter's  Lodge.  After  a  few  days'  deten- 
tion, he  was  released ;  whereupon,  Howard,  meeting  him  behind 
the  scenes,  congratulated  him.  Lacy,  still  ill  in  temper,  abused 
the  poet  for  the  nonsense  he  had  put  into  the  part  of  Captain 
Otter,  which  was  the  cause  of  all  the  mischief.  Lacy  further  told 
Howard,  he  was  "  more  a  fool  than  a  poet."  Thereat,  the  honor- 
able Edward,  raising  his  glove,  smote  Lacy  smartly  with  it  over 
the  face.  Jack  Lacy  retaliated,  by  lifting  his  cane  and  letting  it 
descend  quite  as  smartly  on  the  pate  of  a  man  who  was  cousin  to 
an  earl.  Ordinary  men  marvelled  that  the  honorable  Edward  did 
not  run  Jack  through  the  body.  On  the  contrary,  without  laying 
hand  to  hilt,  Howard  hastened  to  the  king,  lodged  his  complaint, 
and  the  house  was  thereupon  ordered  to  be  closed.  Thus,  many 
starved  for  the  indiscretion  of  one ;  but  the  gentiy  rejoiced  at  the 
silencing  of  the  company,  as  those  clever  fellows  and  their  fair 
mates  were  growing,  as  that  gentry  thought,  "  too  insolent." 

Lacy,  soon  after,  was  said  to  be  dying,  and  altogether  so  ill- 
disposed,  as  to  have  refused  ghostly  advice  at  the  hands  of  "  a 
bishop,  an  old  acquaintance  of  his,"  says  Pepys,  "  who  went  to 
see  him."  Who  could  this  bishop  have  been,  who  was  the  old 
acquaintance  of  the  ex-dancing-master  and  lieutenant  ?  Herbert 
Croft,  or  Seth  Ward  ? — or  Isaac  Barrow,  of  Sodor-and-Man,  whoso 


72  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

father,  the  mercer,  had  lived  near  the  father  of  Betterton  ?  But, 
whoever  he  may  have  been,  the  Kmg's  favor  restored  the  actor  to 
health  ;  and  he  remained  Charles's  favorite  comedian  till  his  death 
in  1681. 

When  Lacy's  posthumous  comedy,  "Sir  Hercules  Buffoon," 
was  produced  in  1684,  the  man  with  the  longest  and  crookedest 
nose,  and  the  most  wayward  wit  in  England — Tom  Durfcy — fur- 
nished the  prologue.  In  that  piece  he  designated  Lacy  as  the 
standard  of  true  comedy.      If  the  play  does  not  take,  said  lively 

Tom— 

"  all  that  we  can  say  on't 
Is,  we've  his  fiddle,  but  not  his  hands  to  play  on't!" 

Genest,  a  critic  not  very  hard  to  please,  says  that  Lacy's  friends 
should  have  "  buried  his  fiddle  with  him." 

Michael  Mohun  is  the  pleasantest  and,  perhaps,  the  greatest 
name  on  the  roll  of  the  King's  company.  When  the  players  of- 
fended the  King,  Mohun  was  the  peacemaker. 

One  cannot  look  on  Mohun's  portrait,  at  Knowle,  without  a 
certain  mingling  of  pleasure  and  respect.  That  long-haired  young 
fellow  wears  so  frank  an  aspect,  and  the  hand  rests  on  the  sword 
so  delicately  yet  so  firmly  !  He  is  the  very  man  who  might  "  rage 
like  Cethegus,  or  like  Cassius  die."  Lee  could  never  willingly 
write  a  play  without  a  part  for  Mohun,  who,  with  Hart,  was  ac- 
counted among  the  good  actors  that  procured  profitable  "  third 
days"  for  authors.  No  Maximin  could  defy  the  gods  as  he  did ; 
and  there  has  been  no  franker  Clytus  since  the  day  he  originally 
represented  the  character  in  "  Alexander  the  Great,"  In  some 
parts  he  contested  the  palm  with  Betterton,  whose  versatility  he 
rivalled,  creating  one  year  Abdelmelich,  in  another  Dapperwit,  in 
a  third  Pinchwife,  and  then  a  succession  of  classical  heroes  and 
modern  rakes  or  simpletons.  Such  an  actor  had  many  imitators, 
but,  in  his  peculiar  line,  few  could  rival  a  man  who  was  said  to 
speak  as  Shakspeare  wrote,  and  whom  nature  had  formed  for  a 
nation's  delight.  The  author  of  the  Epilogue  to  "  Love  in  the 
Dark"  (that  bustling  piece  of  Sir  Francis  Fane's,  from  the  "  Scru- 
tinio,"  in  which,  played  by  Lacy,  Mrs.  Centlivre  derived  her 
Marj)lot),  illustrates  the  success  of  Mohun's  imitators  by  an  allusioo 
to  the  ijout  from  which  he  suffered  : 


THE    GENTLEMEN    OF   THE   KING's   COMPANY.  73 

"  Those  Blades  indeed,  but  cripples  in  their  art, — 
Mimic  his  foot,  but  not  his  speaking  part." 

Of  his  modesty,  I  know  no  better  trait  than  what  passed  when 
Nat.  Lee  had  read  to  him  a  part  which  Mohun  was  to  fill  in  one 
of  Lee's  tragedies.  The  Major  put  aside  the  manuscript,  in  a  sort 
of  despair — "  Unless  I  could  play  the  character  as  beautifully  as 
you  read  it,"  said  he,  "  it  were  vain  to  try  it  at  all !" 

Such  is  the  brief  record  of  a  great  actor,  one  who  before  our 
civil  jara  was  a  young  player,  during  the  civil  wars  was  a  good 
soldier,  and  in  the  last  years  of  Charles  II.  was  an  old  and  a  great 
actor  still.  Of  the  other  original  members  of  the  Theatre  Royal, 
there  is  not  much  to  be  said.  Wintershell,  who  died  in  1679, 
merits,  however,  a  word.  He  was  distinguished,  whether  wearing 
the  sock  or  the  buskin,  majestic  in  loftily-toned  kings,  and  absurd 
in  sillily-amorous  knights.  Downes  has  praised  him  as  superior  to 
Nokes,  in  at  least  one  part,  and  his  Slender  has  won  eulogy  from 
so  stern  a  critic  as  Dennis. 

Among  the  men  who  subsequently  joined  the  Theatre  Royal, 
there  were  some  good  actors,  and  a  few  great  rogues.  Of  these, 
the -best  actor  and  the  greatest  rogue  was  Cardell  Goodman,  or 
Scum  Goodman,  as  he  was  designated  by  his  enemies.  His  career 
on  the  stage  lasted  from  1677,  as  Polyperchon,  in  Lee's  "Rival 
Queens,"  to  1688.  His  most  popular  parts  were  Julius  Ctesar  and 
Alexander.  He  came  to  the  theatre  hot  from  a  fray  at  Cambridge 
University,  whence  he  had  been  expelled  for  cutting  and  slashing 
the  portrait  of  that  exemplary  Chancellor,  the  Duke  of  Monmouth. 

This  rogue's  salary  must  have  been  small,  for  he  and  Griffin 
shared  the  same  bed  in  their  modest  lodging,  and  having  but  one 
shirt  between  them,  wore  it  each  in  his  turn.  The  only  dissension 
which  ever  occurred  between  them  was  caused  by  Goodman,  who, 
having  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  lady,  clapped  on  the  shirt  when  it  was 
clean,  and  Griffin's  day  for  wearing  it ! 

For  restricted  means,  however,  every  gentleman  of  spirit,  in 
those  days,  had  a  resource,  if  he  chose  to  avail  himself  of  it.  The 
resource  was  the  road,  and  Cardell  Goodman  took  to  it  with 
alacrity.  But  he  came  to  grief,  and  found  himself  with  gyves  on 
in  Newgate ;  yet  he  escaped  the  cart,  the  rope,  and  Tyburn.  King 
Vol.  I.— 4 


1 4  DORAJs  S  ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

James  gave  "his  Majesty's  servant"  his  life,  and  Cardell  returned 
to  the  stage — a  hero. 

A  middle-aged  duchess,  fond  of  heroes,  adopted  him  as  a  lover, 
and  Cardell  Goodman  had  fine  quarters,  rich  feeding,  and  a  dainty 
wardrobe,  all  at  the  cost  of  his  mistress,  the  ex-favorite  of  a  king, 
Barbara,  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland.  Scum  Goodman  was  proud 
of  his  splendid  degradation,  and  paid  such  homage  to  "wy 
duchess,"  as  the  impudent  fellow  called  her,  that  when  he  expected 
her  presence  in  the  theatre,  he  would  not  go  on  the  stage,  thougli 
king  and  queen  were  kept  waiting,  till  he  heard  that  "  his  duchess  " 
was  in  the  house.  For  her,  he  played  the  mad  scene  in  Alex- 
ander with  double  vigor,  and  cared  for  no  other  applause  so  long 
as  her  Grace's  fan  signalled  approbation. 

Scum  might  have  had  a  rare,  if  a  rascally,  life,  had  he  been 
discreet ;  but  he  was  fool  as  well  as  knave.  A  couple  of  the 
Duchess's  children,  in  the  Duchess's  house,  annoyed  him,  and 
Scum  suborned  a  villanous  Italian  quack  to  dispose  of  them  by 
poison.  A  discovery,  before  the  attempt  was  actually  made, 
brought  Scum  to  trial  for  a  misdemeanor.  He  had  the  luck  of  his 
own  father,  the  devil,  that  he  was  not  tried  for  murder.  As  it 
was,  a  heavy  fine  crippled  him  for  life.  He  seems,  however,  to  have 
hung  about  the  stage  after  he  withdrew  from  it  as  an  actor.  He 
looked  in  at  rehearsals,  and  seeing  a  likely  lad,  named  Cibber, 
going  through  the  little  part  of  the  Chaplain,  in  the  "  Orphan," 
one  spring  morning  of  1690,  Scum  loudly  wished  he  might  be — 
what  he  very  much  deserved  to  be,  if  the  young  fellow  did  not 
turn  out  a  good  actor.  CoUey  was  so  delighted  with  the  earnest 
criticism,  that  the  tears  flowed  to  his  eyes.     At  least,  he  says  so. 

King  James  having  saved  Cardell's  neck,  Goodman,  out  of  pure 
gratitude,  perhaps,  became  a  Tory,  and  something  more,  when 
William  sat  in  the  seat  of  his  father-in-law.  After  Queen  Mary's 
death,  Scum  was  in  the  Fenwick  and  Charnock  plot  to  kill  the 
King.  When  the  plot  was  discovered,  Scum  was  ready  to  peach. 
As  Fcnwick's  life  was  thought,  by  his  friends,  to  be  safe  if  Good- 
man could  be  bought  oft"  and  got  out  of  the  way,  the  rogue  was 
looked  for,  at  the  Fleece,  in  Covent  Garden,  famous  for  homicides, 
and  at  the  robbers'  and  the  revellers'  den,  the  Dog,  in  Drury  Lane. 
Fenwick's  agent,  O'Bryan,  erst  soldier  and  highwayman,  now  a 


THE   GENTLEMEN    OF  THE   KING's   COMPAJSTY.  75 

Jacobite  agent,  found  Scum  at  the  Dog,  and  would  then  and  there 
have  cut  his  tliroat,  had  not  Scum  consented  to  the  pleasant  alter- 
native of  accepting  £500  a  year,  and  a  residence  abroad.  This  to 
a  man  who  was  the  first  forger  of  bank-notes !  Scum  suddenly 
disappeared,  and  Lord  Manchester,  our  Ambassador  in  Paris,  in- 
quired after  him  in  vain.  It  is  impossible  to  say  whether  the 
rogue  died  by  an  avenging  hand,  or  starvation. 

We  are  better  acquainted  with  the  fate  of  the  last  of  Scum's 
fair  favorites,  the  pretty  Mrs.  Price  of  Drury  Lane.  This  Ariadne 
was  not  disconsolate  for  her  Theseus.  She  mamed  "  Charles,  Lord 
Banbury,"  who  was  not  Lord  Banbury,  for  the  House  of  Peers 
denied  his  claim  to  the  title ;  and  he  was  not  Mrs.  Price's  hus- 
band, as  he  was  already  married  to  a  living  lady,  Mrs.  Lester.  Of 
this  confusion  in  social  arrangements  the  world  made  small 
account,  although  the  law  did  pronounce  in  favor  of  Mrs.  Lester, 
without  troubling  itself  to  punish  "  my  lord."  The  Judges  pro- 
nounced for  the  latter  lady,  solely  on  the  ground  that  she  had  had 
children,  and  the  actress  none. 

Joseph  Haines  1  "Joe,"  with  his  familiars;  "Count  Haines," 
with  those  who  affected  great  respect,  was  a  rogue,  in  his  w^ay — a 
merry  rogue,  a  ready  wit,  and  an  admirable  low  comedian,  from 
1672  to  1701.  We  first  hear  of  him  as  a  quick-witted  lad  at  a 
school  in  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields,  whence  he  was  sent,  through 
the  liberality  of  some  gentlemen  who  had  remarked  his  talents,  to 
Queen's  College,  Oxford.  There  Haines  met  with  Williamson, 
the  Sir  Joseph  of  after  days,  distinguished  alike  for  his  scholar- 
ship, his  abilities  as  a  statesman,  the  important  offices  he  held, 
and  the  liberality  with  which  he  dispensed  the  fortime  which  he 
honorably  acquired. 

Williamson  chose  Haines  for  a  friend,  and  made  him  his  Latin 
secretary  when  Williamson  was  appointed  Secretary  of  State.  \{ 
Haines  could  have  kept  ofiicial  and  state  secrets,  his  own  fortune 
would  now  have  been  founded  ;  but  Joe  gossiped  in  joyous  com- 
panies, and  in  taverns  revealed  the  mysteries  of  diplomacy.  Wil- 
liamson parted  with  his  indiscreet  "  servant,"  but  sent  him  to 
recommence  fortune-making  at  Cambridge.  Here,  again,  his  way- 
wardness ruined  him  for  a  professor.  A  strolling  company  at 
Stourbridge  Fair  seduced  him  from  the  groves  of  Academus,  and 


76  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

in  a  short  time  this  foolish  and  clever  fellow,  light  of  head,  of 
heart,  and  of  principle,  was  the  delight  of  the  Drury  Lane  audi- 
ences, and  the  favoi'ed  guest  in  the  noblest  society  where  mirth, 
humor,  and  dashing  impudence  were  welcome.* 

In  1673,  his  Sparkish,  in  the  "Country  Wife" — his  original 
character — was  accepted  as  the  type  of  the  airy  gentleman  of  the 
day.  His  acting  on,  and  his  jokes  off,  the  stage  were  the  themes 
in  all  coteries  and  coffee-houses.  He  was  a  great  practical  jester, 
and  once  engaged  a  simple-minded  clergyman  as  "  Chaplain  to  the 
Theatre  Royal,"  and  sent  him  behind  the  scenes,  ringing  a  bell, 
and  calling  the  players  to  prayers !  When  Romanism  was  look- 
ing up,  under  James  H.,  Haines  had  the  impudence  to  announce 
to  the  convert  Sunderland — unworthy  son  of  Waller's  Sacharissa — 
his  adoption  of  the  King's  religion,  being  moved  thereto  by  the 
Virgin,  who  had  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream,  saying,  "  Joe,  arise  !" 
This  was  too  much,  even  for  Sunderland,  who  drily  observed  that 
"  she  would  have  said  '  Joseph,'  if  only  out  of  respect  for  her  hus- 
band !" 

The  rogue  showed  the  value  of  a  "  profession,"  which  gave  rise 
to  as  many  pamphlets  as  Dryden's,  by  subsequently  recanting — 
not  in  the  church,  but  on  the  stage ;  he  the  while  covered  with  a 
sheet,  holding  a  taper,  and  delivering  some  stupid  rhymes — to  the 
very  dullest  of  which  he  had  the  art  of  giving  wonderful  expres- 
sion by  his  accent,  emphasis,  modulation,  and  felicity  of  applica- 
tion. The  audience  that  could  bear  this  recantation-prologue 
could  easily  pardon  the  speaker,  who  would  have  caused  even 
greater  errors  to  have  been  pardoned,  were  it  only  for  his  wonder- 
ful impersonation  of  Captain  Bluff  (1693)  in  Congreve's  "Old 
Bachelor."  The  self-complaisant  way  in  which  he  used  to  utter 
'Hannibal  was  a  very  pretty  fellow  in  his  day,"  was  universally 
mitated,  and  has  made  the  phrase  itself  proverbial.  His  Roger,  in 
"  Esop,"  was  another  of  his  successes,  the  bright  roll  of  which  was 
crowned  by  his  lively,  impudent,  irresistible  Tom  Errand,  in  Far- 
quhar's  "  Constant  Couple" — that  most  triumphant  comedy  of  a 
whole  century. 

The  great  fault  of  Haines  lay  in  the  liberties  which  he  took 

*  Other  accounts  say  that  he  commenced  his  theatrical  life  early,  at  the 
"  Nursery." 


THE   GENTLEMEN   OF  THE    KING'S   COMPANY.  77 

with  the  business  of  the  stage.  He  cared  less  to  identify  himself 
with  the  characters  he  represented  than,  through  them,  to  keep 
up  a  communication  with  the  spectators.  When  Hajt,  then  man- 
ager, cast  Joe  for  the  simple  part  of  a  Senator,  in  "Catiline," 
In  which  Hart  played  the  hero,  Joe,  in  disgust  at  his  role,  spoiled 
Hart's  best  point,  by  sitting  behind  him,  absurdly  attired,  with  pot 
and  pipe  in  hand,  and  making  grimaces  at  the  grave  actor  of 
Catiline;  which  kept  the  house  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Hart  could 
not  be  provoked  to  forget  his  position,  and  depart  from  his  char- 
acter ;  but  as  soon  as  he  made  his  exit,  he  sent  Joe  his  dismissal. 

Joe  Haines,  then,  alternated  between  the  stage  and  the  houses 
of  his  patrons.  "  Vivitur  inginis" — the  stage-motto,  was  also  his 
own,  and  he  seems  to  have  added  to  his  means  by  acting  the  jest- 
er's part  in  noble  circles.  He  was,  however,  no  mere  "fool." 
Scholars  might  respect  a  "classic,"  like  Haines,  and  travelling 
lords  gladly  hire  as  a  companion,  a  witty  fellow,  who  knew  two  or 
three  living  languages  as  familiarly  as  he  did  his  own.  With  an 
English  peer  he  once  visited  Paris,  where  Joe  is  said  to  have  got 
imprisoned  for  debt,  incurred  in  the  character,  assumed  by  him, 
of  an  English  lord.  After  his  release  he  returned  to  England, 
self-invested  with  the  dignity  of  "  Count,"  a  title  not  respected  by 
a  couple  of  bailiffs  who  arrested  Joseph,  on  Holborn  Hill,  for  a 
little  matter  of  £20. 

"  Here  comes  the  carriage  of  my  cousin,  the  Bishop  of  Ely," 
said  the  unblushing  knave ; "  let  me  speak  to  him  ;  I  am  sure  he 
will  satisfy  you  in  this  matter." 

Consent  was  given,  and  Haines,  putting  his  head  in  at  the  car- 
riage door,  hastily  informed  the  good  Simon  Patrick  that  "  here 
were  two  Romanists,  inclined  to  become  Protestants,  but  with  yet 
some  scruples  of  conscience." 

"My  friends,"  said  the  eager  prelate  to  them,  "if  you  will  pres- 
ently come  to  my  house,  I  will  satisfy  you  in  this  matter !"  The 
scrupulous  gentlemen  were  well  content ;  but  when  an  explanation 
ensued,  the  vexed  bishop  paid  the  money  out  of  very  shame,  and 
Joe  and  the  bailiffs  spread  the  story.  They  who  remembered  how 
Haines  played  Lord  Plausible,  in  the  "Plain  Dealer,"  were  not  at 
all  surprised  at  his  deceiving  a  bishop  and  a  brace  of  bailiffs. 

Sometimes  his  wit  was  of  a  nicer  quality.     When  Jeremy  Col- 


78  doran's  aj^tnals  of  the  stage. 

lier's  book  against  the  stage  was  occupying  the  public  mind,  a 
critic  expressed  his  surprise,  seeing  that  the  stage  was  a  mender 
of  morals.  "  True,"  answered  Joe,  "  but  Collier  is  a  mender  of 
morals,  too  ;  and  two  of  a  trade,  you  know,  never  agree  !" 

Haines  was  the  best  comic  actor,  in  his  peculiar  line  of  comedy, 
during  nearly  thirty  years  that  he  was  one  of  "their  majesties' 
servants."  He  died  at  his  house  in  Hart  Street,  Covent  Garden, 
then  a  fashionable  locality,  on  the  4th  of  April,  IVOI,  and  was 
buried  in  the  gloomy  chui'chyard  of  the  parish,  which  has  nothing 
to  render  it  bright  but  the  memory  of  the  poets,  artists,  and  actors 
whose  bodies  are  there  buried  in  peace. 

Let  us  now  consider  the  men  in  Davenant's,  or  the  Duke's  com- 
pany, who  acted  occasionally  in  Dorset  Gardens,  but  mostly  in 
Portugal  Row,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Of  these,  the  greatest  actor 
was  good  Thomas  Betterton — and  his  merits  claim  a  chapter  to 
himself. 


THOMAS  BETTERTON.  79 


CHAPTER  V. 


THOMAS    BETIERTON. 


The  diaries,  biographies,  journals,  and  traditions  of  the  time, 
will  enable  us,  with  some  little  aid  from  the  imagination,  not  only 
to  see  the  actor,  but  the  social  aspects  amid  which  he  moved. 
By  aid  of  these,  I  find  that,  on  a  December  night,  1661,  there  is 
a  crowded  house  at  the  theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  The  play 
is  "  Hamlet,"  with  young  Mi-.  Betterton,  who  has  been  two  years 
on  the  stage,  in  the  part  of  the  Dane.  The  Ophelia  is  the  real 
object  of  the  young  fellow's  love,  charming  Mistress  Saunderson. 
Old  ladies  and  gentlemen,  repairing  in  capacious  coaches  to  this 
representation,  remind  one  another  of  the  lumbering  and  crushing 
of  carriages  about  the  old  playhouse  in  the  Blackfriars,  causing 
noisy  tumults  which  drew  indignant  appeals  from  the  Puritan 
housekeepers,  whose  privacy  was  sadly  disturbed.  But  what  was 
the  tumult  there  to  the  scene  on  the  south  side  of  the  "  Fields," 
when  "  Hamlet,"  with  Betterton,  as  now,  was  offered  to  the  pub- 
lic !  The  Jehus  contend  for  place  with  the  eagerness  of  ancient 
Britons  in  a  battle  of  chariots.  And  see,  the  mob  about  the  pit- 
doors  have  just  caught  a  bailiff  attempting  to  arrest  an  honest 
playgoer.  They  fasten  the  official  up  in  a  tub,  and  roll  the  trem 
bling  wretch  all  "  round  the  square."  They  finish  by  hurling  him 
against  a  carriage,  which  sweeps  from  a  neighboring  street  at  full 
gallop.  Down  come  the  horses  over  the  barrelled  bailiff,  with 
sounds  of  hideous  ruin ;  and  the  young  lady  lying  back  in  the 
coach  is  screaming  like  mad.  This  lady  is  the  dishonest  daughter 
of  brave,  honest,  and  luckless  Viscount  Grandison.  As  yet,  she  is 
only  Mrs.  Palmer;  next  year  she  will  be  Countess  of  Castlemaine. 

At  length  the  audience  are  all  safely  housed  and  eager.  Indlffer 
ent  enough,  however,  they  are,  during  the  opening  scenes.  The 
fine  gentlemen  laugh  loudly  and  comb  their  periwigs  in  the  "  best 
rooms."     The  fops  stand  erect  in  the  boxes  to  show  how  folly 


80  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

looks  in  clean  linen ;  and  the  orange  nymphs,  with  their  costly 
entertainment  of  fruit  from  Seville,  giggle  and  chatter,  as  they 
stand  on  the  benches  below,  with  young  and  old  admirers,  proud 
of  being  recognized  in  the  boxes. 

The  whole  court  of  Denmark  is  before  them ;  but  not  till  the 
words,  "  'Tis  not  alone  my  inky  cloak,  good  mother,"  fall  from  the 
lips  of  Bctterton,  is  the  general  ear  charmed,  or  the  general  tongue 
arrested.  Then,  indeed,  the  vainest  fops  and  pertest  orange  girls 
look  round  and  listen  too.  The  voice  is  so  low,  and  sad,  and 
sweet;  the  modulation  so  tender,  the  dignity  so  natural,  the  grace 
so  consummate,  that  all  yield  themselves  silently  to  the  delicious 
enchantment.  "  It's  beyond  imagination,"  whispers  Mr.  Pepys  to 
his  neighbor,  who  only  answers  with  a  long  and  low  drawn 
''Hush  /" 

I  can  never  look  on  Kneller's  masterly  portrait  of  this  great 
player,  without  envying  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to  see  the 
original,  especially  in  Hamlet.  How  grand  the  head,  how  lofty 
the  brow,  what  eloquence  and  fire  in  the  eyes,  how  firm  the  mouth, 
how  manl}^  the  sum  of  all !  How  is  the  whole  audience  subdued, 
almost  to  tears,  at  the  mingled  love  and  awe  which  he  displays  in 
presence  of  the  spirit  of  his  father !  Some  idea  of  Betterton's 
acting  in  this  scene  may  be  derived  from  Gibber's  description  of 
it,  and  from  that  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Betterton  fulfilled 
all  that  Overbury  laid  down  with  regard  to  what  best  graced  an 
actor.  "  Whatsoever  is  commendable  to  the  grave  orator,  is  most 
exquisitely  perfect  in  him ;  for  by  a  full  and  significant  action  of 
body  he  charms  our  attention.  Sit  in  a  full  theatre,  and  you  will 
think  you  see  so  many  lines  drawn  from  the  circumference  of  so 
many  ears,  while  the  actor  is  the  centre."  This  was  especially 
the  case  with  Betterton ;  and  now,  as  Hamlet's  first  soliloquy 
closes,  and  the  charmed  but  silent  audience  "  feel  music's  pulse  in 
all  their  arteries,"  Mr.  Pepys  almost  too  loudly  exclaims  in  liis 
ecstasy,  "  It's  the  best  acted  part  ever  done  by  man."  And  the 
audience  think  so,  too ;  there  is  a  hurricane  of  applause ;  after 
which  the  fine  gentlemen  renew  their  prattle  with  the  fine  ladies, 
and  the  orange  girls  beset  the  Sir  Foplings,  and  this  universal 
trifling  is  felt  as  a  relief  after  the  general  emotion. 

Meanwhile,  a  critic  objects  that  young  Mr.  Betterton  ia  not 


THOMAS   BETTERTON.  81 

"  original,"  and  intimates  that  lais  Hamlet  is  played  by  tradition 
come  down  througli  Davenant,  who  had  seen  the  character  acted 
by  Taylor,  and  had  taught  the  boy  to  enact  the  prince  after  the 
fashion  set  by  the  man  who  was  said  to  have  been  instructed  by 
Shakspeare  himself;  amid  which  Mr,  Pepys  remarks,  "I  only 
know  that  Mr.  Betterton  is  the  best  actor  in  the  world." 

As  Sir  Thomas  Overbury  remarked  of  a  great  player,  his  voice 
was  never  lower  than  the  prompter's  nor  higher  than  the  foil  and 
target.  But  let  us  be  silent,  here  comes  the  gentle  Ophelia.  The 
audience  generally  took  an  interest  in  this  lady  and  the  royal 
Dane,  for  there  was  not  one  in  the  house  who  was  ignorant  of  the 
love-passages  there  had  been  between  them,  or  of  the  coming  mar- 
riage by  which  they  were  to  receive  additional  warrant.  Mistress 
Saunderson  was  a  lady  worthy  of  all  the  homage  here  implied. 
There  was  mind  in  her  acting ;  and  she  not  only  possessed  per- 
sonal beauty,  but  also  the  richer  beauty  of  a  virtuous  life.  They 
were  a  well-matched  couple  on  and  off  the  stage  ;  and  their  mutual 
affection  was  based  on  a  mutual  respect  and  esteem.  People 
thought  of  them  together,  as  inseparable,  and  young  ladies  won- 
dered how  Mr,  Betterton  could  play  Mercutio,  and  leave  Mistress 
Saunderson  as  Juliet,  to  be  adored  by  the  not  ineffective  Mr.  Har 
ris  as  Romeo !  The  whole  house,  as  long  as  the  incomparable 
pair  were  on  the  stage,  were  in  a  dream  of  delight.  Their  grace, 
perfection,  good  looks,  the  love  they  had  so  cunningly  simulated, 
and  that  which  they  were  known  to  mutually  entertain,  formed 
the  theme  of  all  tongues.  In  its  discussion,  the  retiring  audience 
forgot  the  disinterring  of  the  regicides,  and  the  number  of  men 
killed  the  other  day  on  Tower  Hill,  servants  of  the  French  and 
Spanish  ambassadors,  in  a  bloody  struggle  for  precedency,  which 
was  ultimately  won  by  the  Don ! 

Fifty  years  after  these  early  triumphs,  an  aged  couple  resided  in 
one  of  the  best  houses  in  Russell  Street,  Covent  Garden, — the 
walls  of  which  were  covered  with  pictures,  piints,  and  drawings, 
selected  with  taste  and  judgment.  They  were  still  a  handsome 
pair.  The  venerable  lady,  indeed,  looks  pale  and  somewhat  sad- 
dened. The  gleam  of  April  sunshine  which  penetrates  the  apart- 
ment cannot  win  her  from  the  fire.  She  is  Mrs.  Betterton,  and 
ever  and  anon  she  looks  with  a  sort  of  proud  sorrow  on  her  aged 
4* 


82  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

husband.  His  fortune,  nobly  earned,  Las  been  diminished  by 
"  speculation,"  but  the  means  whereby  he  achieved  it  are  his  still, 
and  Thomas  Betterton,  in  the  latter  years  of  Queen  Anne,  is  the 
chief  glory  of  the  stage,  even  as  he  was  in  the  first  year  of  King 
Charles.  The  lofty  column,  however,  is  a  little  shaken.  It  is  not 
a  ruin^  but  is  beautiful  in  its  decay.  Yet  that  it  should  decay  at 
all  is  a  source  of  so  much  tender  anxiety  to  the  actor's  wife,  that 
her  senses  suffer  disturbance,  and  there  may  be  seen  in  her  features 
something  of  the  distraught  Ophelia  of  half  a  century  ago. 

It  is  the  13th  of  April,  1710 — his  benefit  night ;  and  the  tears 
are  in  the  lady's  eyes,  and  a  painful  sort  of  smile  on  her  trembling 
lips,  for  Betterton  kisses  her  as  he  goes  forth  that  afternoon  to 
take  leave,  as  it  proved,  of  the  stage  forever.  He  is  in  such  pain 
from  gout  that  he  can  scarcely  walk  to  his  carriage,  and  how  is  he 
to  enact  the  noble  and  fiery  Melantius  in  that  ill-named  drama  of 
horror,  "  The  Maid's  Tragedy  ?"  Hoping  for  the  best,  the  old 
player  is  conveyed  to  the  theatre,  built  by  Sir  John  Vanbrugh,  in 
the  Haymarket,  the  site  of  which  is  now  occupied  by  the  "  Opera- 
house."  Through  the  stage-door  he  is  carried  in  loving  arms  to 
his  dressing-room.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  Wilks  is  there,  and 
Pinkethman,  and  Mrs.  Barry,  all  dressed  for  their  parts,  and  agree- 
ably disappointed  to  find  the  Melantius  of  the  night  robed,  ar- 
mored, and  besworded,  with  one  foot  in  a  buskin  and  the  other 
in  a  slipper.  To  enable  him  even  to  wear  the  latter,  he  had  first 
thrust  his  inflamed  foot  into  water ;  but  stout  as  he  seemed, 
trying  his  strength  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  the  hand  of  Death  was 
at  that  moment  descendino;  on  the  grandest  of  Eno-lish  actors. 

The  house  rose  to  receive  him  who  had  delighted  themselves, 
their  sires,  and  their  grandsires.  The  audience  were  packed  "  like 
Norfolk  bifiins."  The  edifice  itself  was  only  five  years  old,  and 
when  it  was  a-building,  people  laughed  at  the  folly  which  reared  a 
new  theatre  in  the  country,  instead  of  in  London ;  for  in  1705  all 
beyond  the  rural  Haymarket  was  open  field,  straight  away  west- 
ward and  northward.  That  such  a  house  could  ever  be  filled  was 
set  down  as  an  impossibility  ;  but  the  achievement  was  accom- 
plished on  this  eventful  benefit  night;  when  the  popular  favorite 
was  about  to  utter  his  last  words,  and  to  belong  thenceforward 
only  to  the  history  of  the  stage  he  had  adorned. 


THOMAS   BETTERTON.  83 

There  was  a  shout  wliich  slioi)k  him,  as  Lysippus  uttered  the 
words  "  Noble  Mclantius,"  which  heralded  his  coming.  Every 
word  which  could  be  applied  to  himself  was  marked  by  a  storm 
of  applause,  and  when  Melautius  said  of  Amintor — 

"  His  youth  did  promise  much,  and  his  ripe  years 
Will  see  it  all  performed," 

a  murmuring  comment  ran  round  the  house,  that  this  had  been 
effected  by  Betterton  himself.  Again,  when  he  bids  Amintor 
"  hear  thy  friend,  who  has  more  years  than  thou,"  there  were  prob- 
ably few  who  did  not  wish  that  Betterton  were  as  young  as  Wilks : 
but  when  he  subsequently  thundered  forth  the  famous  passage, 
"  My  heart  will  never  fail  me,"  there  was  a  very  tempest  of  excite- 
ment, which  was  carried  to  its  utmost  height,  in  thundering  peal 
on  peal  of  unbridled  approbation,  as  the  great  Rhodian  gazed  full 
on  the  house,  exclaiming — 

"  My  heart 
And  limbs  are  still  the  same :  my  will  as  great 
To  do  you  service!" 

No  one  doubted  more  than  a  fractional  part  of  this  assertion,  and 
Betterton,  acting  to  the  end  under  a  continued  fire  of  '■^bravoesf" 
may  have  thrown  more  than  the  original  meaning  into  the  phrase — ■ 

"  That  little  word  was  worth  all  the  sounds 
That  ever  I  shall  hear  again  1" 

Few  were  the  words  he  was  destined  ever  to  hear  again ;  and 
the  subsequent  prophecy  of  his  own  certain  and  proximate  death, 
on  which  the  curtain  slowly  descended,  was  fulfilled  eight  and 
forty  hours  after  they  were  uttered. 

Such  was  the  close  of  a  career  which  had  commenced  fifty-one 
years  before !  Few  other  actors  of  eminence  have  kept  the  stage, 
with  the  public  favor,  for  so  extended  a  period,  with  the  exception 
of  Cave  Underbill,  Quin,  Macklin,  King,  and  in  later  times,  Bart- 
ley  and  Cooper,  most  of  whom  at  least  accomplished  their  half 
century.  The  record  of  that  career  jjffords  many  a  lesson  and 
valuable  suggestion  to  young  actors,  but  I  have  to  say  a  word  pre- 


84  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

viously  of  the  Bettertons,  before  the  brothers  of  thai  name,  Thomas 
and  the  less  known  William,  assumed  the  sock  and  buskin, 

Tothill  Street,  Westminster,  is  not  at  present  a  fine  or  fragrant 
locality.  It  has  a  crapulous  look  and  a  villanous  smell,  and  petty 
traders  now  huddle  together  where  nobles  once  were  largely 
housed.  Thomas  Betterton  was  born  here,  about  the  year  1634-5. 
The  street  was  then  in  its  early  decline,  or  one  of  King  Charles's 
cooks  could  hardly  have  had  home  in  it.  Nevertheless,  there  still 
clung  to  it  a  considerable  share  of  dignity.  Even  at  that  time 
there  was  a  Tothill  Fields  House  of  Correction,  whither  vagabonds 
were  sent, who  used  to  earn  scraps  by  scraping  trenchers  in  the 
tents  pitched  in  Petty  France.  All  else  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
borhood retained  an  air  of  pristine  and  very  ancient  nobility.  I 
therefore  take  the  father  of  Betterton,  cook  to  King  Charles,  to 
have  been  a  very  good  gentleman,  in  his  way.  He  was  certairdy 
the  sire  of  one,  and  the  circumstance  of  the  apprenticeship  of 
young  Thomas  to  a  bookseller  was  no  evidence  to  the  contrary. 
In  those  days,  it  was  the  custom  for  greater  men  than  the  chefs 
in  the  King's  kitchen,  namely,  the  bishops  in  the  King's  church, 
to  apprentice  their  younger  sons,  at  least,  to  trade,  or  to  bequeath 
sums  for  that  especial  purpose.  The  last  instance  I  can  remember  of 
this  traditionary  custom  presents  itself  in  the  person,  not  indeed 
of  a  son  of  a  bishop,  but  of  the  grandson  of  an  archbishop,  namely, 
of  John  Sharp,  Archbishop  of  York  from  1691  to  1714.  He  had 
influence  enough  with  Queen  Anne  to  prevent  Swift  from  obtain- 
ing a  bishopric.  His  son  was  Archdeacon  of  Northumberland, 
and  of  this  archdeacon's  sons  one  was  Prebendary  of  Durham, 
while  the  other,  the  celebrated  Granville  Sharp,  the  "  friend  of  the 
Negro,"  was  apprenticed  to  a  linendraper,  on  Tower  Hill.  The 
early  connection  of  Betterton,  therefore,  with  Rhodes,  the  Charing 
Ci-oss  bookseller,  is  not  to  be  accepted  as  a  proof  that  his  sire  was 
not  in  a  "respectable"  position  in  society.  That  sire  had  had  for 
Ills  neighbor,  only  half-a-dozen  years  before  Thomas  was  born,  the 
well-known  Sir  Henry  Spehnan,  who  had  since  removed  to  more 
cheerful  quarters  in  Barbican.  A  very  few  years  previously.  Sir 
George  Carew  resided  here,  in  Caron  House,  and  his  manuscripts 
are  not  very  far  from  the  spot  even  now.  They  refer  to  his  expe- 
riences as  Lord  Deputy  in  Ireland,  and  are  deposited  in  the  library 


THOMAS  BETTEKTON.  85 

at  Lambeth  Palace.  These  great  men  were  neighbors  of  the  elder 
Betterton,  and  they  had  succeeded  to  men  not  less  remarkable. 
One  of  the  latter  was  Arthur,  Lord  Grey  of  Wilton,  the  friend  of 
Spenser,  and  the  Talus  of  that  poet's  "  Iron  Flail."  The  Greys, 
indeed,  had  long  kept  house  in  Tothill  Street,  as  had  also  the  Lord 
Dacre  of  the  South.  When  Betterton  was  born  here,  the  locality 
was  still  full  of  the  story  of  Thomas  Lord  Dacre,  who  went  thence 
to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn,  in  1541.  He  had  headed  a  sort  of  Chevy- 
chase  expedition  into  the  private  park  of  Su'  Nicholas  Pelham,  in 
Sussex.  Li  the  fray  which  ensued,  a  keeper  was  killed,  of  which 
deed  my  lord  took  all  the  responsibility,  and,  very  much  to  his 
surprise,  was  hanged  in  consequence.  The  mansion  built  by  his 
son,  the  last  lord,  had  not  lost  its  first  freshness  when  the  Better- 
tons  resided  here,  and  its  name,  Stourton  House,  yet  survives  in 
the  corrupted  form  of  Strutton  Ground. 

Thus,  the  Bettertons  undoubtedly  resided  in  a  "  fashionable  " 
locality,  and  we  may  fairly  conclude  that  their  title  to  "  respecta- 
bility "  has  been  so  far  established.  That  the  street  long  continued 
to  enjoy  a  certain  dignity  is  apparent  from  the  fact  that,  in  1664, 
when  Betterton  was  rousing  the  town  by  his  acting,  as  Bosola,  in 
Webster's  "  Duchess  of  Malfy,"  Sir  Henry  Herbert  established  his 
oflBce  of  Master  of  the  Revels,  in  Tothill  Street.  It  was  not  till  the 
next  century  that  the  decline  of  this  street  set  in.  Southern,  the 
dramatist,  resided  and  died  there,  but  it  was  in  rooms  over  an  oil- 
man's shop ;  and  Edmund  Burke  lived  modestly  at  the  east  end, 
before  those  mysterious  thousands  were  amassed  by  means  of 
which  he  was  at  length  enabled  to  establish  himself  as  a  country 
gentleman. 

Gait,  and  the  other  biographers  of  Betterton,  complain  of  the  pau- 
city of  materials  for  the  life  of  so  great  an  actor.  Therein  is  his  life 
told  ;  or  rather  Pepys  tells  it  more  correctly  in  an  entry  in  his  diary 
for  October,  1662,  in  which  he  says — "Betterton  is  a  very  sober, 
serious  man,  and  studious,  and  humble,  following  of  his  studies; 
and  is  rich  already  with  what  he  gets  and  saves."  There  is  the 
great  and  modest  artist's  whole  life — earnestness,  labor,  lack  of  pre- 
sumption, and  the  recompense.  At  the  two  ends  of  his  career,  two 
competent  judges  pronounced  him  to  be  the  best  actor  they  had 
ever  seen.     The  two  men  were  Pepys,  who  was  born  in  the  reign 


86  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

of  Charles  I.,  and  Pope,  who  died  in  the  reign  of  George  II.  This 
testimony  refers  to  above  a  century,  during  which  time  the  stage 
knew  no  such  player  as  he.  Pope,  indeed,  notices  that  old  critics 
used  to  place  Hart  on  an  equality  with  him ;  this  is,  probably,  an 
error  for  Harris,  who  had  a  party  at  court  among  the  gay  people 
there  who  were  oppressed  by  the  majesty  of  Betterton.  Pepys 
alludes  to  this  partisanship  in  1663.  "This  fellow"  (Harris),  he 
remarks,  "grew  very  proud  of  late,  the  King  and  everybody  else 
crying  him  up  so  high,  and  that  above  Betterton,  he  being  a  more 
aery  man,  as  he  is,  indeed." 

From  the  days  of  Betterton's  bright  youth  to  that  of  his  old  age, 
the  sober  seriousness  of  the  "  artist,"  for  which  Pepys  vouches, 
never  left  him.  With  the  dress  he  assumed,  for  the  night,  the 
nature  of  the  man — be  it  "Hamlet"  or  "Thersites,"  "Valentine" 
or  "  Sir  John  Brute,"  of  whom  he  was  to  be  the  representative. 
In  the  "  green-room,"  as  on  the  stage,  he  was,  for  the  time  being, 
subdued  or  raised  to  the  quality  of  him  whose  likeness  he  had  put 
on.  In  presence  of  the  audience,  he  was  never  tempted  by  ap- 
plause to  forget  his  part,  or  himself.  Once  only,  Pepys  registers, 
with  surprise,  an  incident  which  took  place  at  the  representation 
of  " Mustapha,"  in  1667.  It  was  "bravely  acted,"  he  says,  "only 
both  Betterton  and  Harris  could  not  contain  from  laughing,  in  the 
midst  of  a  most  serious  part,  from  the  ridiculous  mistake  of  one 
of  the  men  upon  the  stage ;  which  I  did  not  like." 

Then  for  his  humility,  I  find  the  testimony  of  Pepys  sufficiently 
corroborated.  It  may  have  been  politic  in  him,  as  a  young  man, 
to  repair  to  Mr.  Cowley's  lodgings  in  town,  and  ask  from  that 
author  his  particular  views  with  regard  to  the  Colonel  Jolly  in  the 
*' Cutter  of  Coleman  Street,"  which  had  been  intrusted  to  the 
young  actor;  but  the  politic  humility  of  1661  was,  in  fact,  the 
practised  modesty  of  his  life.  In  the  very  meridian  of  his  fame, 
he,  and  Mrs.  Barry  also,  were  as  ready  to  take  instruction  respect- 
ing the  characters  of  Jaffier  and  Belvidera,  from  poor  battered 
Otway,  as  they  subsequently  were  from  that  very  fine  gentleman, 
Mr.  Congreve,  when  they  were  cast  for  the  hero  and  heroine  of 
his  comedies.  Even  to  bombastic  Rowe,  who  hardly  knew  his 
own  reasons  for  language  put  on  the  lips  of  his  characters,  they 
listened  with  deference ;  and,  at  another  period,  "  Sir  John  and 


THOMAS   BETTERTON.  87 

Lady  Brute  "  were  not  undertaken  by  them  till  they  had  conferred 
with  the  author,  solid  Vanbrugh. 

The  mention  of  these  last  personages  reminds  me  of  a  domestic 
circumstance  of  interest  respecting  Betterton.  He  and  Mrs.  Barry 
acted  the  principal  characters  in  the  "  Provoked  Wife ;"  the  part 
of  Lady  Fancyful  was  played  by  Mrs.  Bowman.  This  young  lady 
was  the  adopted  child  of  the  Bettertons,  and  the  daughter  of  a 
friend  (Sir  Frederick  Watson,  Bart.)  whose  indiscretion  or  ill-luck 
had  scattered  that  fortune,  the  laying  of  the  foundation  of  which  is 
recorded  by  Pepys.  To  the  sire,  Betterton  had  intrusted  the  bulk 
of  his  little  wealth  as  a  commercial  venture  to  the  East  Indies.  A 
ruinous  failure  ensued,  and  I  know  of  nothing  which  puts  the  pri- 
vate life  of  the  actor  in  so  pleasing  a  light,  as  the  fact  of  his  adopt- 
ing the  child  of  the  wholly  ruined  man  who  had  nearly  ruined 
him.  He  gave  her  all  he  had  to  bestow,  careful  instruction  in  his 
art ;  and  the  lady  became  an  actress  of  merit.  This  merit,  added 
to  considerable  personal  charms,  won  for  her  the  homage  of  Bow- 
man, a  player  who  became,  in  course  of  time,  the  father  of  the 
.stage,  though  he  never  grew,  confessedly,  old.  In  after  years,  he 
would  converse  fi-eely  enough  of  his  wife  and  her  second  father, 
Betterton ;  but  if  you  asked  the  carefully-dressed  Mr.  Bowman 
any  thing  with  respect  to  his  age,  no  other  reply  was  to  be  had 
from  him  than — "  Sir,  it  is  very  well !" 

From  what  has  been  previously  stated,  it  will  be  readily  believed 
that  the  earnestness  of  Betterton  continued  to  the  last.  Severely 
disciplined,  as  he  had  been  by  Davenant,  he  subjected  himself  to 
the  same  discipline  to  the  very  close ;  and  he  was  not  pleased  to 
see  it  disregarded  or  relaxed  by  younger  actors  whom  late  and  gay 
"last  nights"  brought  ill  and  incompetent  to  rehearsal.  Those 
actors  might  have  reaped  valuable  instruction  out  of  the  harvest 
of  old  Thomas's  experience  and  wisdom,  had  they  been  so  minded. 

Young  actors  of  the  present  time — time  when  pieces  run  for 
months  and  years ;  when  authors  prescribe  the  extent  of  the  run 
of  their  own  dramas,  and  when  nothing  is  "  damned  "  by  a  patient 
public — our  young  actors  have  little  idea  of  the  labors  undergone 
by  the  great  predecessors  who  gave  glory  to  the  stage  and  dignity 
to  the  profession.  Not  only  was  Betterton's  range  of  characters 
unlimited,  but  the  number  he  "  created "  was  never  equalled  bv 


88  doran's  axnals  of  the  stage. 

any  subsequent  actor  of  eminence — namely,  about  one  hundred 
and  thirty !  In  some  single  seasons  he  studied  and  represented 
no  less  than  eight  original  parts — an  amount  of  labor  which  would 
shake  the  nerves  of  the  stoutest  among  us  now. 

His  brief  relaxation  was  spent  on  his  little  Berkshire  faim, 
whence  he  once  took  a  rustic  to  Bartholomew  Fair  for  a  holiday. 
The  master  of  the  puppet-show  declined  to  take  money  for  admis- 
sion. "  Mr.  Betterton,"  he  said,  ''  is  a  brother  actor !"  Roger,  the 
rustic,  was  slow  to  believe  tliat  the  puppets  were  not  alive ;  and 
so  similar  in  vitality  appeared  to  him,  on  the  same  night,  at  Drury 
Lane,  the  Jupiter  and  Alcmena  in  "Amphitryon,"  played  by  Bet- 
terton and  Mrs.  Barry,  that  on  being  asked  what  he  thought  of 
tliem,  Roger,  taking  them  for  puppets,  answered,  "  They  did  won- 
derfully well  for  rags  and  sticks." 

Provincial  engagements  were  then  unknown.  Travelling  com- 
panies, like  that  of  Watkins,  visited  Bath,  a  regular  company 
from  town  going  thither  only  on  roj'al  command ;  but  magistrates 
ejected  strollers  from  Newbury ;  and  Reading  would  not  tolerate 
them,  even  out  of  respect  for  Mr.  Betterton.  At  Windsor,  how- 
ever, there  was  a  troop  fairly  pati'onizcd,  wliere,  in  1706,  a  Mistress 
Carroll,  daughter  of  an  old  parliamentarian,  was  awakening  shrill 
echoes  by  enacting  Alexander  the  Great.  The  lady  was  a  friend 
of  Betterton's,  who  had  in  the  previous  year  created  the  part  of 
Lovewell  in  her  comedy  of  the  "  Gamester."  The  powers  of  Mrs. 
Carroll  had  such  an  effect  on  Mr.  Centlivre,  one  of  the  cooks  to 
Queen  Anne,  that  he  straightway  married  her ;  and  when,  a  few 
months  later,  Betterton  played  Sir  Thomas  Beaumont,  in  the  lady's 
comedy,  "  Love  at  a  Venture,"  his  friend,  a  royal  cook's  wife,  fur- 
nished but  an  indifferent  part  for  a  royal  cook's  son. 

In  other  friendships  cultivated  by  the  great  actor,  and  in  the 
influences  which  he  exerted  over  the  most  intellectual  men  who 
were  his  fi-iends,  we  may  discover  proofs  of  Betterton's  moral 
worth  and  mental  power.  Glorious  Thomas  not  only  associated 
with  "Glorious  John,"  but  became  bis  critic, — one  to  whom  Dry- 
den  listened  with  respect,  and  to  whose  suggestions  he  lent  a 
ready  acquiescence.  In  the  poet's  "Spanish  Fair,"  there  was  a 
passage  which  spoke  of  kings'  bad  titles  growing  good  by  time; 
a  supposed  fact  which  was  illustrated  by  the  lines — 


THOMAS    BETTERTON.  8tf 

"So,  when  clay's  burued  for  a  hundred  years, 
It  starts  forth  china  I" 

The  player  fearlessly  pronounced  this  passage  "  ??iea?i,"  and  it  was 
forthwith  cancelled  by  the  poet. 

Intimate  as  this  incident  shows  Betterton  to  have  been  with 
Dryden,  there  are  others  which  indicate  a  closer  intimacy  of  the 
player  with  Tillotson.  The  divine  was  a  man  who  placed  charity 
above  rubrics,  and  discarded  bigotry  as  he  did  perukes.  He  could 
extend  a  friendly  hand  to  the  benevolent  Arlan,  Firmin ;  and  wel- 
come, even  after  he  entered  the  arehiepiscopal  palace  at  Lambeth, 
such  a  vasitor  as  the  great  actor,  Betterton.  Did  objection  come 
fi'om  the  rigid  and  ultra-orthodox? — the  prelate  might  have  re- 
minded them  that  it  was  not  so  long  since  a  bishop  was  hanged, 
and  that  the  player  was  a  far  more  agreeable,  and,  in  every  respect, 
a  worthier  man  than  the  unlucky  diocesan  of  Waterford.  How- 
ever this  may  be  questioned  or  conceded,  it  is  indisputable  that 
when  Tillotson  and  Betterton  met,  the  greatest  preacher  and  the 
greatest  plaj^er  of  the  day  were  together.  I  think,  too,  that  the 
divine  was,  in  the  above  respect,  somewhat  indebted  to  the  actor. 
We  all  remember  the  story  how  Tillotson  was  puzzled  to  account 
for  the  circumstance  that  his  fiiend  the  actor  exercised  a  vaster 
power  over  human  sympathies  and  antipathies  than  he  had  hitherto 
done  as  a  preacher.  The  reason  was  plain  enough  to  Thomas 
Betterton.  "  You,  in  the  pulpit,"  said  he,  "  only  tell  a  story :  I, 
on  the  stage,  show  facts."  Observe,  too,  what  a  prettier  way  this 
was  of  putting  it  than  that  adopted  by  Garrick  when  one  of  his 
clerical  friends  was  similarly  perplexed.  '•  I  account  for  it  in  this 
way,"  said  the  latter  Roscius :  "  You  deal  with  facts  as  if  they  were 
fictions;  I  deal  with  fictions  as  if  I  had  faith  in  them  as  facts." 
Again,  what  Betterton  thus  remarked  to  Tillotson  was  a  modest 
comment,  which  Colley  Gibber  has  rendered  perfect  in  its  applica- 
tion, in  the  words  which  tell  us  that  "  the  most  a  Vandyke  can 
arrive  at  is  to  make  his  Portraits  of  Great  Persons  seem  to  think. 
A  Shakspeare  goes  farther  yet,  and  tells  you  what  his  Pictures 
thought.  A  Betterton  steps  beyond  'em  both,  and  calls  them 
from  the  grave,  to  breathe  and  be  themselves  again  in  Feature, 
Speech,  and  Motion."     That  Tillotson  profited  by  the  comment  of 


90  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Betterton — more  gratefully  than  Bossuet  did  by  the  actors,  whom 
he  consigned,  as  such,  to  the  nethermost  Gehenna — is  the  more 
easily  to  be  believed,  from  the  fact  that  he  introduced  into  the 
pulpit  the  custom  of  preaching  from  notes.  Thenceforth,  he  left 
off  "  telling  his  story,"  as  from  a  book,  and,  having  action  at  com- 
mand, could  the  nearer  approach  to  the  "  acting  of  facts.'' 

"  Virgilium  tantum  vidi !  "  Pope  said  this  of  Dry  den,  whom  he 
once  saw,  when  a  boy.  He  was  wont  to  say  of  Betterton,  that  he 
had  known  him  from  his  own  boyhood  upwards,  till  the  actor 
died,  in  1710,  when  the  poet  was  twenty-two  years  of  age.  The 
latter  listened  eagerly  to  the  old  traditions  which  the  player  nar- 
rated of  the  earlier  times.  Betterton  was  warrant  to  him,  on  the 
authority  of  Davenant,  from  whom  the  actor  had  it,  that  there  was 
no  foundation  for  the  old  legend  which  told  of  an  iingenei'ous  ri- 
valry between  Shakspeare  and  Old  Ben.  The  player  who  had  been 
as  fearless  with  Dryden  as  Socrates  was  with  his  friend  Euripides 
— "judiciously  lopping "  redundant  nonsense  or  false  and  mean 
maxims,  as  Dryden  himself  confesses — was  counsellor,  rather  than 
critic  or  censor,  with  young  Pope.  The  latter,  at  the  age  of  twelve 
years,  had  written  the  greater  portion  of  an  imitative  epic  poem, 
entitled  Alcander,  Prince  of  Rhodes.  I  commend  to  artists  in 
search  of  a  subject  the  incident  of  Pope,  at  fifteen  or  sixteen, 
showing  this  early  effort  of  his  Muse  to  Betterton.  It  was  a  poem 
which  abounded  in  dashing  exaggerations,  and  fair  imitations  of  the 
styles  of  the  then  greater  English  poets.  There  was  a  dramatic 
vein  about  it,  however,  or  the  player  would  not  have  advised  the 
bard  to  convert  his  poem  into  a  play.  The  lad  excused  himself. 
He  feared  encountering  either  the  law  of  the  drama  or  the  taste  of 
the  town ;  and  Betterton  left  him  to  his  own  unfettered  way.  The 
actor  lived  to  see  that  the  boy  was  the  better  judge  of  his  own 
powers,  for  young  Pope  produced  his  Essay  on  Criticism  the  year 
before  Betterton  died.  A  few  years  later  the  poet  rendered  any  pos- 
sible fulfilment  of  the  player's  counsel  impossible,  by  dropping  the 
manuscript  of  Alcander  into  the  flames.  Atterbury  had  less  esteem 
for  this  work  than  Betterton.  "I  am  not  sorry  your  Alcander  is 
burnt,"  he  says,  "  but  had  I  known  your  intentions  I  would  have 
interceded  for  the  first  p<ige,  and  put  it,  with  your  leave,  among 
my  curiosities." 


THOMAS    BETTERTON,  91 

Pope  remembered  the  player  with  affection.  For  some  time 
after  Betterton's  decease  the  print-shops  abounded  with  n^  ezzotinto 
engravings  of  his  portrait  by  Kneller.  Of  this  portrait  the  poet 
himself  executed  a  copy,  which  still  exists.  His  friendly  inter- 
course with  the  half-mad  Irish  artist,  Jervas,  is  well  known.  When 
alone.  Pope  was  the  poet;  with  Jervas,  and  under  his  instructions, 
he  became  an  artist, — in  his  way ;  but  yet  an  artist, — if  a  copier 
of  portraits  deserve  so  lofty  a  name.  In  1713,  he  writes  to  Gay  : — • 
"  You  may  guess  in  how  uneasy  a  state  I  am,  when  every  day  the 
performances  of  others  appear  more  beautiful  and  excellent,  and 
my  own  more  despicable.  1  have  thrown  away  three  Dr.  Swifts, 
each  of  which  was  once  my  vanity,  two  Lady  Bridgwaters,  a  Duchess 
of  Montague,  half  a  dozen  Earls,  and  one  Knight  of  the  Garter." 
He  perfected,  however,  and  kept  his  portrait  of  Betterton,  from 
Kneller,  which  passed  into  the  collection  of  his  friend  Murray,  and 
which  is  now  in  that  of  Murray's  descendant,  the  Earl  of  Mans- 
field. 

Kneller's  portrait  of  Betterton  is  enshrined  among  goodly  com- 
pany at  princely  Knowle — the  patrimony  of  the  Saekvilles.  It  is 
there,  with  that  of  his  fellow-actor,  Mohun ;  his  friend,  Dryden  ; 
and  his  great  successor,  Garrick ; — the  latter  being  the  work  of 
Reynolds.  The  grand  old  Kentish  Hall  is  a  fitting  place  for  such 
a  brotherhood. 

This  master  of  his  art  had  the  greatest  esteem  for  a  silent  and 
attentive  audi^mce.  It  was  easy,  he  used  to  say,  for  any  player  to 
rouse  the  house,  but  to  subdue  it,  render  it  rapt  and  hushed  to,  at 
the  most,  a  murmur,  was  work  for  an  artist ;  and  in  such  effects 
no  one  approached  him.  And  yet  the  rage  of  Othello  was  more 
"  in  his  line  "  than  the  tenderness  of  Castalio ;  but  he  touched  the 
audience  in  his  rage.  Harris  competed  with  him  for  a  brief  pe- 
liod,  but  if  he  ever  excelled  him  it  was  only  in  very  light  comedy. 
The  dignity  and  earnestness  of  Betterton  were  so  notorious  and 
so  attractive,  that  people  flocked  only  to  hea,r  him  speak  a  pro- 
logue, while  brother  actors  looked  on,  admired,  and  despaired. 

Age,  trials,  infirmity  never  damped  his  ardor.  Even  angry  and 
unsuccessful  authors,  who  railed  against  the  players  who  had 
brought  their  dramas  to  grief,  made  exception  of  Betterton.  He 
was  always  ready,  always  perfect,  always  anxious  to  effect  the  ut- 


92  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

most  within  liis  power.  Among  the  foremost  of  his  merits  may 
be  noticed  his  freedom  from  all  jealousy,  and  his  willingness  to 
assist  others  up  the  height  which  he  had  himself  surmounted. 
That  he  played  Bas.saiiio  to  Doggott's  Shylock  is,  perliaps,  not 
saying  much  by  way  of  illusti'atioTi ;  but  that  he  acted  Horatio  to 
Powell's  Lothario ;  that  he  gave  up  Jupiter  (Amphitryon)  and 
Valentine,  two  of  his  original  pails,  to  Wilks,  and  even  yieldctl 
Othello,  one  of  the  most  elaborate  and  exquisite  of  his  "  present- 
ments," to  Thurmond,  are  fair  instances  in  point.  When  Bowman 
introduced  young  Barton  Bi^oth  to  "  old  Thomas,"  the  latter  wel- 
comed him  heartily,  and  after  seeing  his  Maximus,  in  "  Valen- 
tinian,"  recognized  in  him  his  successor.  At  that  moment  the 
town,  speculating  on  the  demise  of  their  favorite,  had  less  discern- 
ment. They  did  not  know  whether  Verbriiggen,  with  his  voice 
like  a  cracked  drum,  or  idle  Powell,  with  his  lazy  stage-swing, 
might  aspire  to  the  sovereignty ;  but  they  were  slow  to  believe  in 
Booth,  who  was  not  the  only  young  actor  who  was  shaded  in  the 
setting  glories  of  the  sun  of  the  English  theatre. 

When  CoUey  Cibber  first  appeared  before  a  London  audience, 
he  was  a  "volunteer"  who  went  in  for  practice;  and  he  had  the 
misfortuTie,  on  one  occasion,  to  put  the  great  master  out,  by  some 
error  on  his  own  part.  Betterton  subsc(|ueiitly  inquired  the  young 
man's  name,  and  the  amount  of  his  salary ;  and  hearing  that  the 
former  was  Cibber,  and  that,  as  yet,  he  received  nothing,  "  Put 
him  down  ten  shillings  a-week,"  said  Betterton,  "  and  forfeit  him 
five."  Colley  was  delighted.  It  was  placing  his  foot  on  the  first 
round  of  the  ladder;  and  his  respect  for  "  Mr.  Betterton  "  was  un- 
bounded. Indeed  there  were  few  who  did  not  pay  him  some 
homage.  The  King  himself  delighted  to  honor  him.  Charles, 
James,  Queen  Mary,  and  Queen  Anne,  sent  him  assurances  of  their 
admiration ;  but  King  William  admitted  him  to  a  private  audi- 
ence, and  when  the  patentees  of  Drury  Lane  were,  through  lack 
of  general  patronage,  suggesting  the  expediency  of  a  reduction  of 
salaries,  great  Nassau  placed  in  the  hands  of  Betterton  the  license 
which  freed  him  from  the  thraldom  of  the  Drury  tyrants,  and 
authorized  him  to  open  the  second  theatre  erected  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields.  Next  to  his  most  sacred  Majesty,  perhaps  the  most 
formidable  personage   in  the  kingdom,  in  the  eyes  of  the  actors, 


THOMAS    BETTERTON.  93 

was  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  who  was  master  of  the  very  lives  of 
the  performers,  having  the  absolute  control  of  the  stage  whereby 
they  lived.  This  potentate,  however,  seemed  ever  to  favor  Bet- 
terton.  When  unstable  yet  useful  Powell  suddenly  abandoned 
Drury  Lane  to  join  the  company  in  Lincoln's  Lin  Fields,  the 
Chamberlain  did  not  deign  to  notice  the  offence ;  but  when,  all  as 
suddenly,  the  capricious  and  unreliable  Powell  abandoned  the 
house  in  the  Fields,  and  betook  himself  again  to  that  in  the  Lane 
— the  angry  Lord  Chamberlain  sent  a  "  messenger  "  after  him  to 
his  lodgings,  and  clapped  the  unoffending  Thespian,  for  a  couple 
of  days,  in  the  Gate  House. 

While  Powell  was  with  Betterton,  the  latter  produced  the 
"Fair  Penitent,"  by  Rowe,  Mrs.  Barry  being  the  Calista.  When 
the  dead  body  of  Lothario  was  lying  decently  covered  on  the 
stage,  Powell's  dresser,  Warren,  lay  there  for  his  master,  who, 
requiring  the  services  of  the  man  in  his  dressing-room,  and  not  re- 
membering where  he  was,  called  aloud  for  him  so  repeatedly,  and 
at  length  so  angrily,  that  Warren  leaped  up  in  a  fright,  and  ran 
from  the  stage.  His  cloak,  however,  had  got  hooked  to  the  bier, 
and  this  he  dragged  after  him,  sweeping  down,  as  he  dashed  off 
in  his  confusion,  table,  lamps,  books,  bones,  and  upsetting  the 
astounded  Calista  herself  LTcprcssible  laughter  convulsed  the 
audience,  but  Betterton's  reverence  for  the  dignity  of  tragedy  was 
shocked,  and  he  stopped  the  piece  in  its  full  career  of  success, 
until  the  town  had  ceased  to  think  of  Warren's  escapade. 

I  know  of  but  one  man  who  has  spoken  of  Betterton  at  all  dis- 
paragingly— old  Anthony  Aston.  But  even  that  selfish  cynic  is 
constrained  so  to  modify  his  censure,  as  to  convert  it  into  praise. 
W^hen  Betterton  was  approaching  threescore  years  and  ten,  An- 
thony could  have  wished  that  he  "  would  have  resigned  the  part 
of  Hamlet  to  some  young  actor  who  might  have  peisonated, 
though,"  mark  the  distinction,  "  not  have  acted  it  better.''''  Aston's 
grounds  for  his  wish  are  so  many  justifications  of  Betterton  ;  "  for," 
says  Anthony,  "  when  he  threw  himself  at  Ophelia's  feet,  he  ap- 
peared a  little  too  grave  for  a  young  student  just  from  the  Univer- 
sity of  Wittenberg."  "  His  repartees,"  Anthony  thinks,  "  were  more 
those  of  a  philosopher  than  the  sporting  flashes  of  young  Hamlet ;" 
as  if  Hamlet  were  not  the  gravcat  of  students,  and  the  most  philo- 


94  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Bophical  of  young  Danes !  Aston  caricatures  the  aged  actor  only 
again  to  commend  liim.  He  depreciates  the  figure  which  time  had 
touched,  magnifies  the  defects,  registers  the  lack  of  power,  and 
the  sloM  sameness  of  action ;  hints  at  a  little  remains  of  paralysis, 
and  at  gout  in  the  now  thick  legs,  profanely  utters  the  words  "  fat" 
and  "clumsy,"  and  suggests  that  the  face  is  "slightly  pock- 
marked." But  we  are  therewith  told  that  his  air  was  serious, 
veneiahle,  and  majestic ;  and  that  though  his  voice  was  " low  and 
grumbling,  he  could  turn  it  by  an  artful  climax  which  enforced  an 
universal  attention  even  from  the  fops  and  orange-girls."  Gibber 
declares  that  there  was  such  enchantment  in  his  voice  alone,  the 
multitude  no  more  cared  for  sense  in  the  words  he  spoke,  "  than 
our  musical  connoisseurs  think  it  essential  in  the  celebrated  airs 
of  an  Italian  Opera."  Again,  he  says,  "Could  hoiv  Betterton 
spoke  be  as  easily  known  as  ivhat  he  spoke,  then  might  you  see 
the  Muse  of  Shakspeare  in  her  triumph."  "  I  never,"  says  honest 
Colley,  "  heard  a  line  in  tragedy  come  from  Betterton,  wherein  my 
judgment,  my  ear,  and  my  imagination  were  not  fully  satisfied, 
which,  since  his  time,  I  cannot  equally  say  of  any  one  actor  what- 
soever." This  was  written  in  1740,  the  year  before  little  David 
took  up  the  rich  inheritance  of  "  old  Thomas" — whose  Hamlet, 
however,  the  latter  actor  could  hardly  have  equalled.  The  next 
great  pleasure  to  seeing  Betterton's  Hamlet  is  to  read  Gibber's 
masterly  analysis  of  it.  A  couple  of  lines  reveal  to  us  the  leading 
principle  of  his  Brutus.  "  When  the  Betterton-Brutus,"  says 
Golley,  "  was  provoked  in  his  dispute  with  Gassius,  his  spirit  flew 
only  to  his  eye ;  his  steady  look  alone  supplied  that  terror  which 
he  disdained  an  intemperance  in  his  voice  should  rise  to."  In  his 
least  effective  characters,  he,  with  an  exception  already  noted,  ex- 
celled all  other  actors;  but  in  characters  such  as  Hamlet  ai-d 
Othello  he  excelled  himself.  Gibber  never  beheld  his  equal  for  at 
lea;"'  two-and-thirty  years  after  Betterton's  death,  when,  in  1 741, 
court  and  city,  with  doctors  of  divinity  and  enthusiastic  bishops, 
were  hurrying  to  Goodman's  Fields,  to  witness  the  Richard  of  the 
gentleman  from  Ipswich,  named  Garrick. 

During  the  long  career  of  Betterton  he  played  at  Drury  Lane, 
Dorset  Gardens,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  (in  both  theatres),  and  at  the 
Opera-house  in  the  Ilaymarket.     The  highest  salary  awarded  to 


THOMAS    BETTERTOy.  95 

this  great  master  of  his  art  was  £5  per  week,  which  inchided  £l 
by  way  of  pension  to  his  wife,  after  her  retirement  in  1694.  In 
consideration  of  his  merits,  he  was  allowed  to  take  a  benefit  in  the 
season  of  1708-9,  when  the  actor  had  an  ovation.  In  money  for 
admission  he  received,  indeed,  only  £76 ;  but  in  complimentary 
guineas,  he  took  home  with  him  to  Russell  Street  £450  more. 
The  terms  in  which  the  Tatler  spoke  of  him  living, — the  tender 
and  affectionate,  manly  and  heart-stirring  passages  in  which  the 
same  writer  bewailed  him  when  dead, — are  eloquent  and  enduring 
testimonies  of  the  greatness  of  an  actor,  who  was  the  glory  of  our 
stage,  and  of  the  worth  of  a  man  whose  loss  cost  his  sorrowing 
widow  her  reason.  "  Decus  et  Dolor.''''  "  The  grace  and  the  grief 
of  the  theatre."  It  is  well  applied  to  him  who  labored  incessantly, 
lived  irreproachably,  and  died  in  harness,  universally  esteemed 
and  regretted.  He  was  the  jewel  of  the  English  stage ;  and  [ 
never  think  of  him,  and  of  some  to  whom  his  example  was  given 
in  vain,  without  saying,  with  Overbury,  "I  value  a  worthy  actor 
by  the  corruption  of  some  few  of  the  quality,  as  I  would  do  gold 
in  the  ore ;  I  should  not  mind  the  dross,  but  the  purity  of  the 
metal." 

The  feeling  of  the  English  public  towards  Betterton  is  in  strong 
contrast  with  that  of  the  French  towards  their  great  actor.  Baron. 
Both  men  grew  old  in  the  public  service,  but  both  were  not  treated 
with  equal  respect  in  the  autumn  of  that  service.  Betterton,  at 
seventy,  was  upheld  by  general  esteem  and  crowned  by  general 
applause.  When  Baron,  at  seventy,  was  playing  Nero,  the  Paris 
pit  audience,  longing  for  novelty,  hissed  him  as  he  came  down  the 
stage.  The  fine  old  player  calmly  crossed  his  arms,  and  looking 
his  rude  assailants  in  the  face,  exclaimed,  "  Ungrateful  pit !  'twas 
I  who  taught  you  I"  That  was  the  form  of  Baron's  exit ;  and 
Clairon  was  as  cruelly  driven  from  the  scene  when  her  dimming 
eyes  failed  to  stir  the  audience  with  the  old,  strange,  and  delicious 
teiTor.  In  other  guise  did  the  English  public  part  with  their  old 
friend  and  servant,  the  noble  actor,  fittingly  described  in  the 
license  granted  to  him  by  King  William,  as  "  Thomas  Betterton, 
Gentleman." 


96  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


EXEUNT      AND  "ENTER.' 


After  Betterton,  there  was  not,  in  the  Duke's  company,  a  more 
accompUshed  actor  than  Harris.  He  lived  in  gayer  society  than 
Betterton,  and  cared  more  for  the  associates  he  found  there.  He 
had  some  knowledge  of  art,  danced  gracefully,  and  had  that  dan- 
gerous gift  for  a  young  man — a  charming  voice,  with  a  love  for 
displaying  it.  His  portrait  was  taken  by  Mr.  Hailes ; — "  in  his 
habit  of  Henry  V.,  mighty  like  a  player ;"  and  as  Cardinal  Wolsey ; 
which  latter  portrait  may  now  be  seen  in  the  Pepysian  Library  at 
Cambridge. 

Pepys  assigns  good  grounds  for  his  esteem  for  Harris.  "  I  do 
find  him,'*  says  the  diarist,  "  a  very  excellent  person,  such  as  in 
my  whole  acquaintance  I  do  not  know  another  better  qualified  for 
converse,  whether  in  things  of  his  own  trade,  or  of  other  kind ;  a 
man  of  great  understanding  and  observation,  and  very  agreeable 
in  the  manner  of  his  discourse,  and  civil,  as  far  as  is  possible.  I 
was  mighty  pleased  with  his  company,"  a  company  with  which 
were  united,  now  Killigrew  and  the  rakes,  and  anon,  Cooper 
the  artist,  and  "Cooper's  cosen  Jacke,"  and  "Mr.  Butler,  that 
wrote  Hudibras,"  being,  says  Mr.  Pepys,  "  all  eminent  men,  in 
their  way."  Indeed,  Harris  was  to  be  found  in  company  even 
more  eminent  than  the  above,  and  at  the  great  coffee-house  in 
Covent  Garden  he  listened  to  or  talked  with  Dryden,  and  held 
his  own  against  the  best  wits  of  the  town.  The  play-wrights  were 
there  too ;  but  these  were  to  be  found  in  the  cofRie-houses,  gen- 
erally, often  wrapped  up  in  their  cloaks,  and  eagerly  heeding  all 
that  the  critics  had  to  say  to  each  other  respecting  the  last  new 
play. 

Harris  was  aware  that  in  one  or  two  light  characters  he  was 
Betterton's  equal.  He  was  a  restless  actor,  threatening,  when  dis- 
contented, to  secede  from  the  Duke's  to  the  King's  company,  and 


"  exeunt"   and    "  ENTER."  97 

causing  equal  trouble  to  his  manager,  Davenant,  and  to  his  mon- 
arch, Charles,— the  two  officials  most  vexed  in  the  settling  oi  the 
little  kino-dora  of  the  stao-e. 

There  was  a  graceful  general  actor  of  the  troop  to  which  Harris 
belonged,  who  drew  upon  liiraself  the  special  observation  of  the 
government  at  home  and  an  English  ambassador  abroad.  Scuda- 
inore  was  the  original  Garcia  of  Congreve''s  "  Mourning  Bride ;" 
he  also  played  amorous  young  knights,  sparkling  young  gentle- 
men, scampish  French  and  English  beaux,  gay  and  good-looking 
kings,  and  roystering  kings'  sons ;  such  as  Harry,  Prince  of  Wales. 
Off  the  stage,  he  enacted  another  part.  When  King  James  was  in 
exile,  Scudamore  was  engaged  as  a  Jacobite  agent,  and  he  carried 
many  a  dispatch  or  message  between  London  and  St.  Germains. 
But  our  Ambassador,  the  Earl  of  Manchester,  had  his  eye  upon  him. 
One  of  the  Earl's  dispatches  to  the  English  government,  written  in 
1700,  concludes  with  the  words: — "One  Scudamore,  a  player  in 
Lincohi's  Inn  Fields,  has  been  here,  and  was  with  the  late  King, 
and  often  at  St.  Germains.  He  is  now,  I  believe,  at  London. 
Several  such  sort  of  fellows  go  and  come  very  often ;  but  I  cannot 
see  how  it  is  to  be  prevented,  for  without  a  positive  oath  nothing 
can  be  done  to  them."  The  date  of  this  dispatch  is  August,  1700, 
at  which  time  the  player  ought  to  have  been  engaged  in  a  less 
perilous  character,  for  an  entry  in  Luttrell's  Diary,  28th  May,  1700, 
records  that  "Mr.  Scudamore  of  the  playhouse  is  married  to  a 
young  lady  of  £4,000  fortune,  who  fell  in  love  with  him." 

Cave  Underbill  was  another  member  of  Davenant's  company. 
He  was  not  a  man  for  a  lady  to  fall  in  love  with;  but  in  1668 
Davenant  pronounced  him  the  truest  comedian  of  his  troop.  He 
was  on  the  stage  from  1661  to  1710,  and  during  that  time  the 
town  saw  no  such  Gravedigger  in  "Hamlet"  as  this  tall,  fat,  broad- 
faoed,  flat-nosed,  wide-mouthed,  thick-lipped,  rough-voiced,  awk- 
wardly-active low  comedian.  So  modest  was  he  also  that  he  never 
understood  his  own  popularity,  and  the  house  was  con\'ulsed  with 
his  solemn  Don  Quixote  and  his  stupid  Lolpoop  in  "  The  Squire 
of  Alsatia"  without  Cave's  being  able  to  account  for  it. 

In  the  stolid,  the  booby,  the  dully  malicious,  the  bluntly  viva- 
cious, the  perverse  humor,  combining  wit  with  ill-nature,  Under- 
aiU  was  the  chief  of  the  actors  of  the  half  century,  during  which 
Vol.  :. — 5 


98  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

be  kept  the  stage.  Gibber  avers  thus  nmch,  and  adds  that  lie  had 
not  seen  Cave's  equal  in  Sir  Sampson  Legend  in  Congreve's  "  Love 
for  Love."  A  year  before  the  old  actor  ceased  to  linger  on  the 
stage  he  had  once  made  light  with  laughter,  a  benefit  was  awarded 
him,  viz.,  on  the  3d  of  June,  1709.  The  patronage  of  the  public 
was  previously  bespoken  by  Mr,  Bickerstaffe,  in  the  Tatier.  whose 
father  had  known  "  honest  Cave  Underhill"  when  he  was  a  boy. 
The  Tatier  praises  the  old  comedian  for  the  natural  style  of  his 
acting,  in  which  he  avoided  all  exaggeration,  and  never  added  a 
word  to  his  author's  text,  a  vice  with  the  younger  actors  of  the 
time. 

On  this  occasion  Underhill  played  his  old  part  of  the  Grave- 
digger,  professedly  because  he  was  fit  for  no  other.  His  judgment 
was  not  ill-founded,  if  Cibber's  testimony  be  true  that  he  was 
really  worn  and  disabled,  and  excited  pity  rather  than  laughter. 
The  old  man  died  a  pensioner  of  the  theatre  whose  proprietors  he 
had  helped  to  enrich,  with  the  reputation  of  having,  under  the 
pseudonym  of  Elephant  Smith,  composed  a  mock  funeral  seniion 
on  Titus  Gates;  and  with  the  further  repute  of  being  an  ultra- 
Tory,  addicted  in  coffee-houses  to  drink  the  Duke  of  York's  health 
more  heartily  than  that  of  his  brother,  the  King. 

With  rare  exchange  of  actors,  and  exclusive  right  of  represent- 
ing particular  pieces,  the  two  theatres  continued  in  opposition  to 
each  other  until  the  two  companies  were  formed  into  one,  in  the 
year  1682.  Meanwhile,  fire  destroyed  the  old  edifice  of  the  King's 
company,  in  Drury  Lane,  in  January,  1672,  and  till  Wren's  new 
theatre  was  ready  for  them  in  1674,  the  unhoused  troop  played 
occasionally  at  Dorset  Gardens,  or  at  Lincoln's  Inn  P'ields,  as  op- 
portunity offered.  On  the  occasion  of  opening  the  new  house, 
contemporary  accounts  state  that  the  prices  of  admission  were 
raised ;  to  the  boxes,  from  2s.  Qd.  to  4*. ;  pit,  from  Is.  6d.  to 
2s.  6c?. ;  the  first  gallery,  from  Is.  to  Is.  6d. ;  and  the  upper  gal- 
lery, from  6d.  to  Is.  Pepy^,  however,  on  the  19th  October,  1667, 
paid  4s.  for  admittance  to  the  upper  boxes,  if  his  record  be  true. 

Down  to  the  year  1682,  the  Kuig's  company  lost  several  old 
and  able  actors,  and  acquired  only  Powell,  Griffin,  and  Beeston. 
George  Powell  was  the  son  of  an  obscure  actor.  His  own  bril- 
liancy was  marred  bv  his  devotion  to  jollity,  and  this  devotion 


"exeunt"  and  "enter,"  99 

became  the  more  profound  as  George  saw  himself  surpassed  by 
steadier  actors,  one  of  whom,  Wilks,  in  his  disappointment,  he 
challenged  to  siuorle  combat,  and,  in  the  cool  air  of  "  next  morn- 
ing," was  sorry  for  his  folly.  Idleness  made  him  defer  learning 
his  parts  till  the  last  moment ;  his  memory  often  failed  him  at  the 
most  importavjt  crisis  of  the  play,  and  the  public  displeasure  fell 
heavily  and  constantly  on  this  clever,  but  reckless,  actor.  The 
Taller  calls  him  the  "  haughty  George  Powell,"  when  referring  to 
his  appearance  in  Falstaff  for  his  benefit,  in  April,  1'712.  "The 
haughty  George  Powell  hopes  all  the  goodnatured  part  of  the 
town  will  favor  him  whom  they  applauded  in  Alexander,  Timon, 
Lear,  and  Orestes,  with  their  company  this  night,  when  he  hazards 
all  his  heroic  glory  in  the  humbler  condition  of  honest  Jack  Fal- 
stati'."  Valuable  aid,  like  the  above,  he  obtained  from  the  Spec- 
tator also,  with  useful  adniDnition  to  boot,  from  which  he  did  not 
care  to  profit ;  and  he  fell  into  such  degradation  that  his  example 
was  a  wholesome  terror  to  young  actors  willing  to  follow  it,  but 
fearful  of  the  consequences.  During  his  career,  from  1687  to  1714, 
in  which  year  he  died,  he  originated  about  forty  new  parts,  and  in 
Bome  of  them,  such  as  Brisk,  in  the  "  Double  Dealer ;"  Aboan,  in 
"  Oronooko ;"  the  gallant,  gay  Lothario ;  Lord  Morelove,  in  the 
"  Careless  Husband ;"  and  Portius,  in  "  Cato,"  he  has  rarely  been 
equalled.  On  the  first  night  of  the  "  Relapse,"  in  which  he  played 
Worthy,  he  was  so  fired  by  his  libations,  that  Mrs.  Rogers,  as 
Amanda,  was  frightened  out  of  her  wits  by  his  tempestuous  love- 
making.  Powell's  literary  contributions  to  the  drama  were  such 
as  a  man  of  his  quality  was  likely  to  make, — chiefly  plagiarisms 
awkwardly  appropriated. 

Griftin  was  an  inferior  actor  to  Powell ;  but  lie  was  a  wiser  and 
a  better  man.  He  belonged  to  that  class  of  actors  whom  "  society  " 
welcomed  with  alacrity.  He  was,  moreover,  of  the  class  which 
had  served  in  the  field  as  well  as  on  the  stage,  and  when  "Captain 
Griffin"  died,  in  Queen  Anne's  reign,  the  stage  lost  a  respectabi*; 
actor,  and  societ}^  a  clover  and  a  worthy  member. 

The  accessions  to  the  Duke's  company  were  of  more  importance 
than  those  to  the  company  of  the  Theatre  Royal.  Li  1G72,  the  two 
poets,  Lee  and  Otway,  tempted  fortune  on  the  stage ;  Lee,  in  one 
or  two  part?,  such  as  the  Captain  of  the  Watch,  in  Payne's  "  Fatal 


100  DORAjX's  annals   of   a"HE   STAGE. 

Jealousy,"  and  Dunean,  in  "  Macbeth."  Otway,  as  the  King,  in 
Mrs.  Behn's  "  Forced  Marriage."  They  bt  th  failed.  Lee,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  readers,  lost  his  voice  through  nervousness. 
Otway,  audacious  enough  at  the  coffee-houses,  lost  his  confidence. 
There  were  eight  other  actors  of  the  period  whose  success  was 
unquestionable  and  well  deserved.  •■  Little  Bowman,  who  between 
this  period  and  1739,  the  year  of  his  death,  never  failed  to  appear 
when  his  name  was  in  the  bills.  He  was  a  noted  bell-ringer,  had 
sung  songs  to  Charles  IL,  and,  when  "  father  of  the  stage,"  ho 
exacted  applause  from  the  second  George.  Cademan  was  another 
of  the  company.  Like  Betterton  and  Cartw right,  he  had  learnt 
the  mystery  of  the  book-trade  before  he  appeared  as  a  player. 
He  was  driven  from  the  latter  vocation  through  an  accident.  En- 
gaged in  a  fencing-scene  with  Harris,  in  "  The  Man's  the  Master," 
he  was  severely  wounded  by  his  adversary's  foil,  in  the  hand  and 
eye,  and  he  lost  power  not  only  of  action  but  of  speech.  For 
nearly  forty  years  the  company  assigned  him  a  modest  pension ; 
and  between  the  benevolence  of  his  brethren  and  the  small  profits 
of  his  publishing,  his  life  was  rendered  tolerable,  if  not  altogether 
happy. 

His  comrade,  Jevon,  an  ex-dancing  master,  was  one  of  the  hila- 
rious actors.  He  was  the  original  Jobson  in  his  own  little  com- 
edy, "A  Devil  of  a  Wife,"  which  has  been  altered  into  the  farce 
of  "  The  Devil  to  Pay."  He  took  great  liberties  with  authors 
and  audience.  He  made  Settle  half  mad,  and  the  house  ecstatic, 
when  having,  as  Lycurgus,  Prince  of  China,  to  '■'■fall  on  his  sword,''^ 
he  placed  it  flat  on  the  stage,  and  falling  over  it,  "  died,"  accord- 
ing to  the  direction  of  the  acting  copy.  He  took  as  great  liberties 
at  the  coffee-house.  "  You  are  wiping  your  dirty  boots  with  my 
clean  napkin,"  said  an  offended  waiter  t ;  him.  "  Never  mind, 
boy,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  I  am  not  proud — it  will  do  for  me  !"  The 
dust  of  this  jester  lies  in  ILunpstead  churchyard. 

Longer  known  was  Anthony  Lee  or  Leigh,  that  industrious  and 
mirthful  player,  who,  in  the  score  of  years  he  was  before  the  public 
— from  1672  to  1692 — originated  above  thrice  that  number  of 
characters.  His  master-piece  was  Dryden's  Spanish  Friar,  Domi- 
nique. How  he  looked  in  that  once  famous  part,  may  be  seen  by 
»ny  one  who  can  gain  access  to  Knowle,  where  his  portrait,  painted 


"exeunt"  and  '-enter/'  101 

for  tlie  Earl  of  Dorset,  still  liangs — and  all  but  speaks.  But  we 
may  see  how  Leigh  looked  by  another  portrait,  painted  in  words, 
by  Gibber.  "  In  the  canting,  grave  hypocrisy  of  the  Spanish 
Friar,  Leigh  stretched  the  veil  of  piety  so  thinly  over  him,  that  in 
every  look,  word,  and  motion,  you  saw  a  palpable,  Avicked  slyness 
shine  throughout  it.  Here  he  kept  his  vivacity  demurely  confined, 
till  the  pretended  duty  of  his  function  demanded  it;  and  then  he 
exerted  it  with  a  choleric,  sacerdotal  insolence.  I  have  never  yet 
seen  any  one  that  has  filled  them"  (the  scenes  of  broad  jests)  "  with 
half  the  truth  and  spirit  of  Leigh.  I  do  not  doubt  but  the  poet's 
knowledge  of  Leigh's  genius  helped  him  to  many  a  pleasant  stroke 
of  nature,  which,  without  that  knowledge,  never  might  have  en- 
tered into  his  conception."  Leigh  had  the  art  of  making  pieces 
— dull  to  the  reader,  side-splitting  mirth  to  an  audience.  In  such 
pieces  he  and  Nokes  kept  up  the  ball  between  them ;  but  with  the 
players  perished  also  the  plays. 

Less  happy  than  Leigh  was  poor  Matthew  Medbourne,  an  actor 
of  merit,  and  a  young  man  of  some  learning,  whose  brief  career 
was  cut  short  by  a  too  fervent  zeal  for  his  religion,  which  led  him 
into  a  participation  in  the  "  Popish  Plot."  The  testimony  of  Titus 
Gates  caused  his  arrest  on  the  26th  of  November,  1Q18,  and  his 
death ; — for  poor  Medbourne  died  of  the  Newgate  rigor  in  the  fol- 
lowing March.  He  is  memorable,  as  being  the  first  who  introduced 
Moli^re's  "  Tartuflfe"  on  the  English  stage,  in  a  close  translation, 
which  was  acted  in  1670,  with  remarkable  success.  Gibber's 
"Nonjuror"  (17 17),  and  Bickerstafte's  "Hypocrite"  (1768),  were 
only  adaptations — the  first  of  "Tartuffe,"  and  the  second  of  the 
"  Nonjuror."  Mr.  Oxenforde,  however,  reproduced  the  original  in 
a  more  perfect  form  than  Medbourne,  in  a  translation  in  verse, 
which  was  brought  out  at  the  Hay  market,  in  1851,  with  a  success 
most  honestly  earned  by  all,  and  especially  deserving  on  the  part 
of  Mr.  Webster,  who  played  the  principal  character. 

Sandford  and  Smith  were  two  actors,  whose  names  constantly 
recur  together,  but  whose  merits  were  not  all  of  the  same  degree. 
The  tall,  handsome,  manly  Smith,  frequently  played  Banquo ; 
when  his  ghost,  in  the  same  tragedy,  was  represented  by  the 
short,  spare,  drolly,  ill-featured,  and  undignified  Sandford !  The 
latter  was  famous  for  his  villains — from  those  of  tragedy  to  ordi- 


102  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

nary  stage  ruffians  in  broad  belt  and  black  wig — permanent  type 
of  those  wicked  people  in  melo-dramas  to  this  day.  This  idiosyn- 
crasy amusingly  puzzled  Charles  II.,  who,  in  supposed  allusion  to 
Shaftesbury,  declared  that  the  greatest  villain  of  his  time  was  fair- 
haired. 

The  public,  of  his  period,  were  so  accustomed  to  see  Sandford 
represent  the  malignant  heroes,  that  when  they  once  saw  him  as 
an  honest  man,  who  did  not  prove  to  be  a  crafty  knave  before  the 
end  of  the  fifth  act,  they  hissed  the  piece,  out  of  sheer  vexation. 
Sandford  rendered  villany  odious,  by  his  forcible  representation  of 
it.  By  a  look,  he  could  win  the  attention  of  an  audience  "to 
whatever  he  judged  worth  more  than  their  ordinary  notice  ;"  and 
by  attending  to  the  punctuation  of  a  passage,  he  divested  it  of  the 
jingle  of  rhyme,  or  the  measured  monotony  of  blank  verse. 

So  misshapen,  harsh,  fierce,  yet  craftily  gentle  and  knavishly 
persuasive,  could  Sandford  render  himself, — Gibber  believes  that 
Shakspeare,  conscious  of  other  qualities  in  him,  would  have  chosen 
him  to  represent  Richard,  had  poet  and  player  been  contempora- 
neous. The  generous  CoUey  adds,  that  if  there  was  any  thing 
good  in  his  own  Richard,  it  was  because  he  had  modelled  it  after 
the  fashion  in  which  he  thought  Sandford  would  have  represented 
that  monarch.  Sandford  withdrew  from  the  stage,  after  thirty- 
seven  years'  service,  commencing  in  1661  and  terminating  in 
1698. 

The  career  of  his  more  celebrated  colleague.  Smith,  extended 
only  from  1663  to  1696,  and  that  with  the  interruption  of  several 
years  when  his  strong  Toryism  made  him  unacceptable  to  the  pre- 
judiced Whig  audiences  of  the  early  part  of  the  reign  of  William. 
He  originally  represented  Sir  Fopling  Flutter  (16*76),  and  Pierre 
(1682);  Chamont  (1680),  in  "The  Orphan,"  and  Scandal  (1695), 
111  "  Love  for  Love."  In  the  following  year  he  died  in  harness. 
The  long  part  of  Cyaxarcs,  in  "  Cyrus  the  Great,"  overtaxed  his 
strength,  and  on  the  fourth  representation  of  that  wearisome  tra- 
gedy. Smith  was  taken  ill,  and  died. 

King  James,  in  the  person  of  Smith,  vindicated  the  nobility  of 
his  profession.  "  Mr.  Smith,"  says  Cibber,  with  line  satire,  "  whoso 
character  as  a  gentleman  could  have  been  no  way  impeached,  had 
he  not  degraded  it  by  being  a  celebrated  actor,  had  the  misfor- 


"exeunt"  and  "enter."  103 

tunc,  in  a  dispute  with  a  gentleman  behind  the  scenes,  to  receive 
a  blow  from  him.  The  same  night  an  account  of  this  action  was 
carried  to  the  King,  to  whom  the  gentleman  was  represented  so 
grossly  in  the  wrong,  that  the  next  day  his  Majesty  sent  to  forbid 
him  the  court  upon  it.  This  indignity  cast  upon  a  gentlemau 
only  for  maltreating  a  player,  was  looked  upon  as  the  concern  of 
every  gentleman !  and  a  party  was  soon  formed  to  assert  and  vin- 
dicate their  honor,  by  humbling  this  favored  actor,  whose  slight 
injury  had  been  judged  equal  to  so  severe  a  notice.  Accordingly, 
the  next  time  Smith  acted,  he  was  received  with  a  chorus  of  cat- 
calls, that  soon  convinced  him  he  should  not  be  suffered  to  pro- 
ceed in  his  part ;  upon  which,  without  the  least  discomposure,  he 
ordered  the  curtain  to  be  dropped,  and  having  a  competent  for- 
tune of  his  own,  thought  the  conditions  of  adding  to  it,  by  re- 
maining on  the  stage,  were  too  dear,  and  from  that  day  entirely 
quitted  it."  Not  "entirely,"  for  he  returned  to  it,  in  1695,  after 
a  secession  of  eleven  years,  under  the  persuasion,  it  is  believed,  of 
noble  friends  and  ancient  comrades.  Dr.  Burncy  states  that  the 
audience  made  a  political  matter  of  it.  If  so,  Whigs  and  Tories 
had  not  long  to  contend,  for  the  death  of  this  refined  player  soon 
supervened. 

Of  the  two  most  eminent  ladies  who  joined  the  Duke's  com- 
pany previous  to  the  union  of  the  two  houses,  Lady  Slingsby 
(formerly  Mrs.  Aldridge,  next  Mrs.  Lee)  is  of  note  for  the  social 
rank  she  achieved, — Mrs.  Barry  for  a  theatrical  reputation  which 
placed  her  on  a  level  with  Betterton  himself.  Lady  Slingsby  with- 
drew from  the  stage  in  1685,  after  a  brief  course  often  or  a  dozen 
years.  She  died  in  the  spring  of  1694,  and  was  interred  in  old 
St.  Pancras  churchyard,  as  Dame  Mary  Slingsby,  Widow."  That 
is  the  sum  of  what  is  known  of  a  lady  whom  report  connects  with 
the  Yorkshire  baronets  of  Scriven.  Of  her  colleague,  there  is 
more  to  be  said ;  but  the  "  famous. Mrs.  Barry  "  may  claim  a  chap- 
ter to  herself. 


101  uokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ELIZABETH    BARRY. 


The  "great  Mrs.  Barry,"  the  Handbook  of  London  tells  us,  Ilea 
buried  in  Westminster  Cloisters.  I  did  not  there  look  for  her 
tomb.  To  come  at  the  grave  of  the  great  actress,  I  passed  through 
Acton  Vale  and  into  the  ugliest  of  village  churches,  and,  after 
service,  asked  to  be  shown  the  tablet  which  recorded  the  death 
and  burial  of  Elizabeth  Barry.  The  pew-opener  directed  me  to 
a  mural  monument  which,  I  found,  bore  the  name  of  one  of  the 
family  of  Smith ! 

I  remonstrated.  The  good  woman  could  not  account  for  it. 
She  had  always  taken  that  for  Elizabeth  Barry's  monument.  It 
was  in  the  church  somewhere.  "There  is  no  stone  to  any  such 
person  in  this  church,"  said  the  clerk,  "  and  I  know  'em  all !" 
We  walked  down  the  aisle  discussing  the  matter,  and  paused  at 
the  staircase  at  the  west  end ;  and  as  I  looked  at  the  wall,  while 
still  conversing,  I  saw  in  the  shade  the  tablet  which  Curie  says  is 
outside,  in  God's  Acre,  and  thereon  I  read  aloud  these  words: — 
"  Near  this  place  lies  the  body  of  Elizabeth  Barry,  of  the  parish 
of  St.  Mary-le-Savoy,  who  departed  this  life  the  Vth  of  November, 
1713,  aged  55  years."     "That  is  she !"  said  I. 

The  two  officials  looked  puzzled  and  inquiring.  At  length,  the 
pew-opener  ventured  to  ask  :  "  And  who  was  she,  sir  ?" 

"  The  original  Monimia,  Belvidera,  Isabella,  Calista" — 

"Lor!"  said  the  good  woman,  "only  a  player!" 

"  Only  a  player .'"      This  of  the  daughter  of  an  old  Cavalier  ! 

The  seventeenth  century  g;ive  iiiaiiy  ladies  to  the  stage,  and 
Elizabeth  Barry  was  certainly  llie  in(jst  famous  of  them.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  barrister,  who  raised  a  regiment  for  the  King, 
and  thereby  was  himself  raiseil  to  the  rank  of  colonel.  The  effort 
did  not  help  his  Majesty,  and  it  ruined  the  Colonel,  whose  daugh- 
ter was  born  in  the  year  1658. 


ELIZABETH   BARRY.  105 

Davenant  took  the  fatherless  girl  into  his  house,  and  trained 
her  for  the  stage,  -while  the  tlash  of  her  light  eyes  beneath  her 
dark  hair  and  Urows  was  as  yet  mere  girlish  spirit ;  it  was  not 
intelligence.  That  was  given  her  by  Rochester.  Davenant  was 
in  despair  at  her  dulness  :  but  he  acknowledged  the  dignity  of 
her  manners.  At  three  separate  periods  managers  rejected  her. 
"  She  will  never  be  an  actress  !"  they  exclaimed.  Rochester  pio- 
tested  that  he  would  make  her  one  iu  six  months. 

The  wicked  young  Earl,  who  lived  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
near  the  theatre,  became  her  master,  and,  of  course,  fell  in  love 
with  his  pupil.  The  pains  lie  bestowed  upon  his  young  nustress 
were  infinite.  Sentence  by  sentence  he  made  her  understand 
her  author ;  and  the  intelligence  of  the  girl  leaped  into  life  and 
splendor  under  such  instruction.  To  familiarize  her  with  the 
stage,  he  superintended  thirty  rehearsals  thereon,  of  each  character 
in  which  she  was  to  appear.  Of  these  I'ehearsals,  twelve  were  in 
full  costume ;  and  when  she  was  about  to  enact  Isabella,  the 
Hungarian  Queen,  in  "  Mustapha,"  the  page  who  bore  her  train 
was  tutored  so  to  move  as  to  aid  in  the  display  of  grace  and 
majesty  which  was  to  charm  the  town. 

For  some  time,  however,  the  town  refused  to  recognize  any 
magic  in  the  charmer;  and  managers  despaired  of  the  success  of 
a  young  actress  who  could  not  decently  thread  the  mazes  of  a 
country  dance.  Hamilton  owned  her  beauty,  but  denied  her  talent. 
Nevertheless,  she  one  night  burst  forth  in  all  her  grandeur,  and 
Mustapha  and  Zanger  were  not  more  ardently  in  love  with  the 
brilliant  queen  than  the  audience  were.  At  tlie  head  of  the  latter 
were  Charles  II.  and  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  York.  Roche^ster 
had  asked  for  their  presence,  and  they  came  to  add  to  the  triumph 
of  Colonel  Barry's  daughter. 

Crabbed  old  Antony  Aston,  the  actor  and  prompter,  spoke 
disparagingly  of  the  young  lady.  According  to  him,  she  was  no 
colonel's  daughter,  but  "  woman  to  Lady  Shclton,  my  godmother." 
The  two  conditions  were  not  incompatible.  It  was  no  un- 
usual thing  to  find  a  lady  in  straitened  circumstances  fulfilling  the 
office  of  "woman,"  or  "maid,"  to  the  wives  of  peers  and  baro- 
nets. Wo  have  an  instance  in  the  Memoirs  of  Mrs.  Delaney,  aud 
another  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Siddons, 


106  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Successful  as  Elizabetli  Barry  was  in  parts  which  she  had  stud- 
ied under  hcv  preceptor  Lord  Rochester,  she  cannot  he  said  to 
have  estabHshed  herself  as  the  greatest  actress  of  her  time  till  the 
year  1680.  Up  to  this  period  she  appeared  in  few  characters 
suited  to  her  abilities.  In  tragedies,  she  enacted  the  confidants  to 
the  great  theatrical  queens,  Mrs.  Lee  and  Mrs.  Bettcrton  ;  in  com- 
eilie.s,  the  rattling,  reckless,  and  audacious  women,  at  whose 
sallies  the  pit  roared  approbation,  and  the  box  ladies  were  not 
much  startled.  But,  in  the  year  just  named,  Otway  produced  his 
tragedy  of  "  The  Orphan,  or  the  Unhappy  Marriage,"  in  which 
Mrs.  Barry  was  the  Monimia  to  the  Castalio  of  Betterton.  On 
the  same  night,  the  part  of  the  Page  was  charmingly  played  by  a 
future  great  actress,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  then  not  six  years  old. 
In  Monmiia,  Mrs.  Barry  exercised  some  of  those  attributes  which 
she  possessed  above  all  actresses  Gibber  had  ever  seen,  and  which 
those  who  had  not  seen  her  were  unable  to  conceive.  "  In  char- 
acters of  greatness,"  says  Gibber,  in  his  Apolof/;/,  "  she  had  a 
presence  of  elevated  dignity ;  her  mien  and  motion  superb  and 
gracefully  majestic ;  her  voice  full,  clear,  and  strong,  so  that  no 
violence  of  passion  could  be  too  much  for  her ;  and  when  distress 
or  tenderness  possessed  her,  she  subsided  into  the  most  affecting 
melody  and  softness." 

From  the  position  which  she  took  by  acting*  Monimia,  Mrs. 
Barry  was  never  shaken  by  any  rival,  however  eminent.  Her 
industry  was  as  indefatigable  as  that  of  Betterton.  During  the 
thirty-seven  years  she  was  on  the  stage,  beginning  at  Dorset 
Gardens,  in  1673,  and  ending  at  the  Haymarket,  in  IVIO,  she 
originated  one  hundred  and  twelve  characters  !  Monimia  was  the 
nineteenth  of  the  characters  of  which  she  was  the  original  repre- 
sentative ;  the  first  of  those  which  mark  the  "  stations"  of  her 
glory.  In  1682  she  added  another  leaf  to  the  cliaplet  of  her  own 
and  Otway's  renown,  by  her  performance  of  Belvidera,  In  the 
softer  passions  of  this  part  she  manifested  herself  the  "  mistress  of 
tears,"  and  night  after  night  the  town  flocked  to  weep  at  her  bid- 
ding, and  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  woe.  The  triumjdi  endured  for 
years.  Her  Monimia  and  Belvidera  were  not  even  put  aside  by 
her  Cassandra,  in  the  "  Cleomenes"  of  Dryden,  first  acted  at  the 
Theatre  Royal,  in  1692.     "Mrs.  Barry,"  says  the  author,  "always 


ELIZABETH    BAERY.  107 

excellent,  has,  in  this  tragech',  excelled  herself,  and  gained  a  repu' 
tation  beyond  any  woman  wliom  I  have  ever  seen  on  the  theatre." 
The  praise  is  not  unduly  applied  ;  for  Mrs.  Barry  could  give 
expression  to  the  rant  of  Dryden,  and  even  to  that  of  Lee,  without 
ever  verging  towards  bombast.  In  "  scenes  of  anger,  deliance,  or 
resentment,"  writes  Gibber,  "  while  she  was  impetuous  and  terrible, 
si;e  poured  out  the  sentiment  with  an  enchanting  harmony." 
Antony  Aston  describes  her  in  tragedy  as  "  solemn  and  august ," 
and  she,  perhaps,  was  never  more  so  than  in  Isabella,  the  heroine 
of  the  tragic  drama  rather  than  tragedy,  by  Southenie, — "The 
Fatal  Marriage."  Aston  remarks,  that  "  her  face  ever  expressed 
the  passions ;  it  somewhat  preceded  her  action,  as  her  action  did 
her  words."  Her  vei*satility  was  marvellous,  and  it  is  not  ill 
illustrated  by  the  fact  that  in  the  same  season  she  created  two 
such  opposite  characters  as  Lady  Brute,  in  Vanbrugh's  "  Provoked 
Wife,"  and  Zara,  in  Congreve's  "Mourning  Bride."  The  last  of 
her  great  tragic  triumphs,  in  a  part  of  which  slie  was  the  original 
representative,  occurred  in  1703,  when,  in  her  forty-iifth  year,  she 
played  Calista,  in  "  The  Fair  Penitent,"  that  wholesale  felony  of 
Kowe  from  Massinger!  Though  the  piece  did  not  answer  the 
expectations  of  the  public,  Mrs.  Barry  did  not  fall  short  of  them, 
in  the  heroine ;  and  she,  perhaps,  surpassed  expectation,  when,  in 
1705,  she  elicited  the  admiration  of  the  town  by  her  creation  of 
the  sparkling  character  of  Clarissa,  in  "The  Confederacy."  By 
this  time  she  was  growing  rich  in  wealth  as  Avell  as  in  glory.  In 
former  daj's,  when  the  play  was  over,  the  attendant  boy  used  to 
call  for  "  Mrs.  Barry's  clogs !"  or  "  Mrs.  Bracegirdle's  pattens !" 
but  now,  "  Mrs.  Barry's  chair"  was  as  familiar  a  sound  as  "  Mrs. 
Oldfield's."  If  she  was  not  invariably  wise  in  the  stewardship  of 
her  money,  some  portions  were  expended  in  a  judicious  manner 
creditable  to  her  taste.  At  the  sale  of  Betterton's  eft'ects,  she 
]>ui-chased  the  picture  of  Shakspeare  which  Betterton  bought  fi'om 
Davenant,  who  had  purchased  it  from  some  of  the  players  after 
the  theatres  had  been  closed  by  authority.  Subsequently,  Mrs. 
Barry  sold  this  relic,  for  forty  guineas,  to  a  Mr.  Keck,  whose 
daughter  carried  it  with  her  as  part  of  her  doAvry,  when  she  mar- 
ried Mr.  Nicoll,  of  Colney  Hatch.  Their  daughter  and  heiress,  in 
her  turn,  took  the   portrait  and  a   large  foiiune  with  her   to  her 


lOS  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

hushaiid,  the  third  Duke  of  Chandos  ;  aud,  finally,  Mrs.  Barry's 
?fRo-y  of  Shakspeare  passed  with  another  bride  into  another  lioiise, 
Lady  Anne  Brydges,  the  dangliter  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess, 
carrying  it  with  her  to  Stowe  on  her  marriage  with  the  Mar()uis 
of  Buckingliam,  subsequently  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Chandos. 
The  Chandos  portrait  of  the  great  dramatist  is  tlms  descended. 

Mrs.  Barry,  like  many  other  eminent  members  of  her  profession, 
was  fanious  for  the  way  in  which  she  uttered  some  single  expres- 
sion in  tlie  play.  The  "  Look  there  !"  of  Spranger  Barry,  as  he 
passed  the  body  of  Rutland,  always  moved  the  house  to  tears. 
So,  the  "  Remember  twelve !"  of  Mrs.  Siddons'  Belvidera ;  the 
"  Well,  as  you  guess !"  of  Edmund  Kean's  Richard ;  the  "  Qu'en 
dis-tu  ?"  of  Talma's  Auguste  ;  the  "  Je  crois  !"  of  Rachel's  Pau- 
line ;  the  "  Je  vois !"  of  JVIademoiselle  ISIars's  Valerie,  were  "  points" 
which  never  failed  to  excite  an  audience  to  enthusiasm.  But 
there  were  two  phrases  with  which  Mrs.  Barry  could  still  more 
deeply  move  an  audience.  When,  in  "The  Orphan,"  she  pro- 
nounced the  words,  "  Ah,  poor  Castalio !"  not  only  did  the 
audience  weep,  but  the  actress  herself  shed  tears  abundantly.  The 
other  phrase  was  in  a  scene  of  Banks's  puling  tragedy,  The  "  Un- 
happy Favorite,  or  tlie  Earl  of  Essex."  In  that  play,  Mrs.  Barry 
represented  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  that  with  such  effect  that  it  was 
currently  said,  the  people  of  her  dtiy  knew  more  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth from  her  impersonation  of  the  character  than  they  did  from 
history.  The  apparently  common-place  remark,  "  What  mean  my 
grieving  subjects  ?"  was  invested  by  lier  with  such  emphatic  grace 
and  dignity,  as  to  call  up  murmurs  of  approbation  which  swelled 
into  thunders  of  applause.  Mary  of  Modena  testified  her  admira- 
tion by  bestowing  on  the  mimic  queen  the  wedding-dress  Mary 
herself  had  worn  when  she  was  united  to  James  IL,  and  the 
mantle  borne  by  her  at  her  coronation.  Thus  attired,  the  queen 
of  the  hour  represented  the  Elizabeth,  with  which  enthusiastic 
crowds  became  so  much  more  familiar  than  they  were  with  the 
Elizabeth  of  history.  But  this  "  solemn  and  august"  tragedian 
could  also  command  laughter,  and  make  a  wliolc  house  joyous  by 
the  exercise  of  another  branch  of  her  vocation.  "  Tn  free  comedy," 
says  Aston,  "  she  was  alert,  easy,  and  genteel,  pleasant  in  her  face 
and  action,  filling  the  stage  with  variety  of  gesture.     So  entirely 


ELIZABETH   BARRY,  109 

did  she  surrender  lierself  to  the  influences  of  the  characters  she 
represented,  that  in  stage  dialogues  she  often  turned  pale  or 
flushed  red,  as  varying  passions  prompted. 

With  the  audience  she  was  never  for  a  moment  out  of  favor, 
after  slie  had  made  her  merit  apparent.  They  acknowledged  no 
greater  actress, — with  the  single  exception  of  Mrs.  Bettcrton  in 
the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Nevertheless,  on  and  behind  the 
stage  Mrs.  Bany's  supremacy  was  sometimes  questioned,  and  her 
commands  disobeyed.  When  she  was  about  to  play  Roxana  to 
the  Statira  of  Mrs.  Boutell,  in  Nat.  Lee's  "  Rival  Queens,  or  the 
Death  of  Alexander  the  Great,"  she  selected  from  the  wardrobe  a 
certain  veil  which  was  claimed  by  Mrs.  Boutell  as  of  right  belong- 
ing to  her.  The  property-man  thought  so  too,  and  handed  the 
veil  to  the  last  named  lady.  His  award  was  reasonable,  for  ^e 
was  the  original  Statira,  having  played  the  part  to  the  matchless 
Alexander  of  Hart,  and  to  the  glowing  Roxana  of  the  fascinating 
Marshall.  I  fear,  however,  that  the  lady  was  not  moderate  in  her 
victory,  and  that  by  flaunting  the  trophy  too  frequently  before  the 
eyes  of  the  rival  queen,  the  daughter  of  Darius  exasperated  too 
fiercely  her  Persian  rival  in  the  heart  of  Alexander.  The  rage  and 
dissension  set  down  for  them  in  the  play  were,  at  all  events,  not 
simulated.  The  quarrel  went  on  increasing  in  intensity  from  the 
first,  and  culminated  in  the  gardens  of  SeniiramLs.  When  Roxana 
seized  on  her  detested  enemy  there,  and  the  supreme  struggle 
took  place,  Mrs.  Barry,  with  the  exclamation  of  "  Die,  sorceress, 
die  !  and  all  my  wrongs  die  with  thee  !"  sent  her  polished  dagger 
right  through  the  stiff  armor  of  Mrs.  Boutell's  stays.  The  conse- 
quences were  a  scratch  and  a  shriek,  but  there  was  no  great  harm 
done.  An  investigation  followed,  and  some  mention  was  made  of 
a  real  jealousy  existing  in  Mrs.  Barry's  breast  in  reference  to  an 
admirer  of  lower  rank  than  Alexander,  lured  fi'om  her  feet  by  the 
little,  flute- voiced  Boutell.  The  deed  itself  was,  however,  mildly 
construed,  and  Mrs.  Barry  was  believed  when  she  declared  that 
she  had  been  carried  away  by  the  illusion  and  excitement  of  the 
scene.  We  shall  see  this  same  scene  repeated,  with  similar  stage 
effects,  by  Mrs.  Woffington  and  Mrs.  Bellamy. 

If  there  we're  a  lover  to  add  bitterness  to  the  quarrel  engendered 
by  the  veil,  Mrs.  Barry  might  have  well  spared  one  of  whom  she 


110  i>okan"s  annals  of  tue  stage. 

possessed  so  many.  Without  being  positively  a  transcendeut 
beauty,  lier  attractions  were  confessed  by  many  an  Anthony  from 
the  country,  who  thought  their  world  of  acres  well  lost  for  the  sake 
of  a  little  sunshine  from  the  eyes  of  this  vanquishing,  imperious, 
banqueting,  heart  and  purse  destroying  Cleopatra.  There  were 
two  classes  of  men  who  made  epigrams,  or  caused  others  to  make 
them  against  her,  namely,  the  adorers  on  whom  she  ceased  to 
smile,  and  those  on  whem  she  refused  to  smile  at  all.  The  coffee- 
house poetry  which  these  perpetrated  against  her  is  the  reverse  of 
pleasant  to  read ;  but,  under  the  protection  of  such  a  wit  as  Ether- 
ege,  or  such  a  fine  gentleman  as  Rochester,  Mrs.  Barry  cared  little 
for  her  puny  assailants. 

Tom  Brown  taxed  her  with  mercenary  feelings ;  but  against 
that  and  the  humor  of  writers  who  affected  intimate  acquaintance 
with  her  affairs  of  the  heart  and  purse,  and  as  intimate  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  amount  which  Sir  George  Etherege  and  Lord  Roches- 
ter bequeathed  to  their  respective  daughters,  of  whom  Mrs.  Barry 
was  the  mother,  she  was  armed.  Neither  of  these  children  sur- 
vived the  "  famous  actress."  She  herself  hardly  survived  Better- 
ton, — at  least  on  the  stage.  The  day  after  the  great  tragedian's 
final  appearance,  Mrs.  Barry  trod  the  stage  for  the  last  time.  The 
place  was  the  old  Ilaymarket,  the  play  the  "  Spanish  Friar,"  in 
which  she  enacted  the  Queen.  And  I  can  picture  to  myself  the 
effect  of  the  famous  passage  when  the  Queen  impetuously  be- 
trays her  overwhelming  love.  ''  Haste,  my  Teresa,  haste  ;  and  call 
him  back  !"  "  Prince  Bertram  ?"  asks  the  confidant ;  and  then 
came  the  full  burst,  breaking  through  all  restraint,  and  revealing  a 
woman  who  seemed  bathed  in  love.  ^'■Torrismond  I  There  is  no 
other  HE !" 

Mrs.  Barry  took  no  formal  leave  of  the  stage,  but  quietly  with- 
drew from  St.  Mary-le-Savoy,  in  the  Strand,  to  the  pleasant  village 
of  Acton.  Mrs,  Porter,  Mrs.  Rogers,  Mrs.  Knight,  and  J\Irs.  Brad- 
shaw,  succeeded  to  her  theatrical  dominion,  by  partition  of  her 
characters.  If  tragedy  lost  its  queen,  Acton  gained  a  wealthy  lady. 
Her  professional  salary  had  not  been  large,  but  her  "  benefits" 
were  very  productive ;  they  who  admired  the  actress  or  who  loved 
the  woinan,  alike  pouring  out  gold  and  jewels  in  her  lap.  It  was 
especially  for  her  that  performers'  benefits  were  first  devised. 


ELIZABETH   BARRY.  Ill 

Authors  alone  had  hitherto  profited  by  such  occasions,  but  in  rec- 
ognition of  her  merit,  King  James  commanded  one  to  be  given  in 
her  behalf,  and  what  was  commenced  as  a  compliment  soon  passed 
into  a  custom. 

In  a  little  more  than  three  years  from  the  date  when  the  curtain 
fell  before  her  for  the  last  time,  Elizabeth  Barry  died.  Brief 
resting  season  after  such  years  of  toil ;  but,  perhaps,  sufficient  for 
better  ends — after  a  career,  too,  of  unbridled  pleasui-e  I  "  This 
great  actiess,"  says  Gibber,  "dy'd  of  a  fever,  towards  the  latter 
years  of  Queen  Anne ;  the  year  I  have  forgot,  but  perhaps  you 
will  recollect  it,  by  an  expression  that  fell  from  her  in  blank 
verse,  in  her  last  hours,  when  she  was  delirious,  viz. : 

"  '  Ha  1  ha  I  and  so  they  make  us  lords,  by  dozens !'  " 

This,  however,  does  not  settle  the  year  so  easily  as  Colley  thought. 
In  December,  1711,  Queen  Anne,  by  an  unprecedented  act,  created 
twelve  new  peers,  to  enable  the  measures  of  her  Tory  ministers  to 
be  carried  in  the  Upper  House.  Mrs.  Barry  died  two  years  later, 
on  the  7th  of  November,  I7l3,  and  the  utterance  of  the  words 
quoted  above  only  indicates  that  her  wandering  memory  was  then 
dealing  with  incidents  full  two  years  old. 

They  who  would  see  how  Mrs.  Barry  looked  living,  have  only 
to  consult  Kneller's  grand  picture,  in  which  she  is  represented 
with  her  fine  hair  drawn  back  from  her  forehead,  the  face  full,  fair, 
and  rippling  with  intellect.  The  eyes  are  inexpressibly  beautiful 
Of  all  her  living  beauty,  living  frailty,  and  living  intelligence,  there 
remains  but  this  presentment. 

It  was  customary  to  compare  Mrs.  Barry  with  French  actresses ; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  only  French  actress  with  whom  Mrs. 
Barry  may  be  safely  compared  is  Mademoiselle,  or,  as  she  was 
called  wdtli  glorious  distinction,  "  the  Champmesle."  This  French 
lady  was  the  original  Ilermione,  Berenice,  Monimia,  and  Phaedre. 
These  were  written  expressly  for  her  by  Racine,  who  trained  her 
exactly  as  Rochester  did  Elizabeth  Barry, — to  some  glory  on  the 
stage,  and  to  some  infamy  off  it.  La  Champmesle,  however,  was 
more  tenderly  treated  by  society  at  large  than  the  less  fortunate 
daughter  of  an  old  royalist  colonel.  The  latter  actress  was  satir- 
ized ;  the  former  was  eulogized  by  the  wits,  and  she  was  not  even 


112  doran's  annals  of  tue  stage. 

anatbeniatized  by  French  mothers.  When  La  Champmesle  was 
ruining  the  young  Marquis  de  Sevigne,  his  mother  wrote  proudly 
of  the  actress  as  her  "  daughter-in-law !"  as  if,  to  have  a  son  hur- 
ried to  perdition  by  so  resplendent  and  destructive  a  genius,  was 
a  matter  of  exultation  ! 

Having  sketched  the  outline  of  Mrs.  Barry's  career,  I  proceed 
to  notice  some  of  her  able,  though  less  illustrious,  colleagues. 


*' THEIR  FIRST   APrKAHAXCE   ON   THIS   STAOR."      113 


CHAPTER  VIIL 
"their  fiust  appearance  on  this  stage." 

On  the  16tli  November,  1682,  the  United  Company,  the  flower 
of  both  houses,  opened  their  season  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Drnry 
Lane,  The  theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens  was  only  occasionally  used ; 
and  from  1682  to  1695  there  was  but  one  theatre  in  London. 

Betterton  and  Mrs.  Barry  were,  of  course,  at  the  head  of  this 
company,  to  which  there  came  some  accessions  of  note ;  among 
others,  Mrs,  Percival,  better  known  as  Mrs.  Mountfort,  and  finally 
as  Mrs.  Verbruggen.  A  greater  accession  was  that  of  the  chang- 
ing Mrs.  Bracegirdle.  The  third  lady  was  Mrs.  Jordan,  a  name  to 
be  made  celebrated  by  a  later  and  greater  actress,  who  liad  no 
legal  claim  to  it. 

Of  the  new  actors,  some  only  modestly  laid  the  foundations  of 
their  glory  in  this  company.  Chief  of  these  was  Colley  Cibber, 
who,  in  1691,  played  Sir  Gentle's  Servant  in  Southerne's  "Sir  An- 
thony Love,"  had  a  part  of  nine  lines  in  Chapman's  "  Bussy  d'Am- 
boise,"  and  of  seventeen,  as  Sigismond  in  Powell's  "  Alphonso." 
Bo  wen,  too,  began  with  coachmen,  and  similar  small  parts,  while 
that  prince  of  the  droll  fellows  of  his  time,  Pinkethman,  commenced 
his  career  with  a  tailor's  part,  of  six  lines  in  length,  in  Shad  well's 
"Volunteers."  Among  the  other  new  actors  were  Mountfort, 
Norris,  and  Doggett,  with  Verbruggen  (or  Alexander,  as  he  some- 
times called  himself,  from  the  character  which  he  loved  to  play) ; 
Gillow,  Carlisle,  Hodgson,  and  Peer. 

Amid  these  names,  that  of  Mrs.  Mountfort  stands  out  the  most 
brilliantly.  Her  portrait  has  been  so  exquisitely  limned  by  Colley 
Cibber,  that  we  see  her  as  she  lived,  and  moved,  and  spoke. 

"  Mrs,  Mountfort  was  mistress  of  more  variety  of  humor  than  I 
ever  knew  in  any  one  actress.  This  variety,  too,  was  attended  with 
an  equal  vivacity,  which  made  her  excellent  in  characters  extremely 


jl-i  doran's  annals  of  the  stagk 

different.  As  she  was  naturally  a  pleasant  mimic,  she  had  the 
skill  to  make  that  talent  useful  on  the  stage.  Where  the  elocu- 
tion is  round,  distinct,  voluble,  and  various,  as  Mrs.  Mountfort's 
was,  the  mimic  there  is  a  great  assistance  to  the  actor.  Nothing, 
though  ever  so  barren,  if  within  the  bounds  of  nature,  could  be 
flat  in  her  hands.  She  gave  many  heightening  touches  to  charac- 
ters but  coldly  written,  and  often  made  an  author  vain  of  his  work, 
that,  in  itself,  had  but  little  merit.  She  was  so  fond  of  humor,  in 
what  low  part  soever  to  be  found,  that  she  would  make  no  scruple 
of  defacing  her  fair  form  to  come  heartily  into  it,  for  when  she 
was  eminent  in  several  desirable  characters  of  wit  and  humor,  in 
liigher  life,  she  would  be  in  as  much  fancy,  when  descending  into 
the  antiquated  Abigail  of  Fletcher,  as  when  triumphing  in  all  the 
airs  and  vain  graces  of  a  fine  lady  ;  a  merit  that  few  actresses  care 
for.  In  a  play  of  Durfey's,  now  foi-gotten,  called  'The  Western 
Lass,'  which  part  she  acted,  she  transformed  her  whole  being, — 
body,  shape,  voice,  language,  look,  and  features, — into  almost  an- 
other animal,  with  a  strong  Devonshire  dialect,  a  broad  laughing 
voice,  a  poking  head,  round  shoulders,  an  unconceiving  eye,  and 
the  most  bedizening,  dowdy  dress  that  ever  covered  the  untrained 
limbs  of  a  Joan  Trot.  To  have  seen  her  here,  you  would  have 
thought  it  impossible  that  the  same  could  ever  have  been  recovered 
to,  what  was  as  easy  to  her,  the  gay,  the  lively,  and  the  desii'able. 
Nor  was  her  humor  limited  to  her  sex,  for  while  her  shape  per- 
mitted, she  was  a  more  adroit,  pretty  fellow  than  is  usually  seen 
upon  the  stage.  Her  easy  air,  action,  mien,  and  gesture,  quite 
changed  from  the  coif  to  the  cocked-hat  and  cavalier  in  fashion. 
People  were  so  fond  of  seeing  her  a  man  that  when  the  part  of  Bayes, 
in  *  The  Rehearsal,'  had  for  some  time  lain  dormant,  she  was  de- 
sired to  take  it  up,  which  I  have  seen  her  act  with  all  the  true 
coxcombly  spirit  and  humor  that  the  sufficiency  of  the  character 
required. 

"  But  what  found  most  employment  for  hor  whole  various  excel- 
lence at  once  was  the  part  of  Melantha,  iu  '  Alariagc  a  la  Mode.' 
Melantha  is  as  finished  an  impertinent  as  ever  fluttered  in  a  draw- 
ing-room, and  seems  to  contain  the  most  complete  system  of  female 
foppery  that  could  possibly  be  crowded  into  the  tortured  form  of 
a  fine  lady.      Iler  language,  dress,  motion,  manners,  soul,  and 


"their  first  appearance  on  this  stage."      115 

body,  are  in  a  continual  hurr}'  to  be  something  more  than  is  neces- 
sary or  commendable.  The  first  ridiculous  airs  that  break  from 
her  are  upon  a  gallant,  never  seen  before,  who  delivers  her  a  letter 
from  her  father,  recommending  him  to  her  good  graces,  as  an 
honorable  lover.  Here,  now,  one  would  think  that  she  might 
naturally  show  a  little  of  the  sex's  decent  reserve,  though  never 
so  slightly  covered.  No,  sir !  not  a  tittle  of  it !  Mode&ty  is 
the  virtue  of  a  poor-souled  country  gentlewoman.  She  is  too 
much  a  court-lady  to  be  under  so  vulgar  a  confusion.  She  reads 
the  letter,  therefore,  with  a  careless,  dropping  lip,  and  an  erected 
brow,  humming  it  hastily  over,  as  if  she  were  impatient  to  outgo 
her  father's  commands,  by  making  a  complete  conquest  of  him 
at  once ;  and  that  the  letter  might  not  embarrass  her  attack, 
crack !  she  crumbles  it  at  once  into  her  palm,  and  pours  upon 
him  her  whole  artillery  of  airs,  eyes,  and  motion.  Down  goes 
her  dainty  diving,  body  to  the  ground,  as  if  she  were  sinking 
under  the  conscious  load  of  her  own  attractions ;  then  launches 
into  a  flood  of  fine  language  and  compliment,  still  playing  her 
chest  forward  in  fifty  falls  and  risings,  like  a  swan  upon  waving 
water;  and,  to  complete  her  impertinence,  she  is  so  rapidly  fond 
of  her  own  wit  that  she  vvill  not  give  her  lover  leave  to  praise  it. 
Silent  assenting  bows,  and  vain  endeavors  to  speak,  are  all  the 
share  of  the  conversation  he  is  admitt<jd  to,  which  at  last  he  is  re- 
lieved fi'om,  by  her  engagement  to  half  a  score  visits,  which  she 
swims  froni  him  to  make,  with  a  pi'omlse  to  return  in  a  twinkling." 

Happy  Mrs.  Mountfort,  whom,  as  actress  and  woman.  Gibber 
has  thus  made  live  for  ever !  As  Mrs.  Percival,  she  was  the 
original  representative  of  Nell  in  the  piece  now  known  as  "  The 
Devil  to  Pay ;"  as  Mrs,  Mountfort, — Belinda,  in  the  "  Old  Bach- 
elor ;"  and  as  Mrs.  Verbruggen, — Charlotte  Welldon,  in  "  Oro- 
nooko  ;"  Lady  Lurewell,  in  the  "  Constant  Couple  ;"  and  Bizarre, 
in  the  "Inconstant."     She  died  in  1703. 

In  some  respects,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  who  was  on  the  stage  from 
1680  to  1707,  and  subsequently  lived  in  easy  retirement  till  1748, 
was  even  superior  to  Mrs,  Mountfort.  Mrs.  Barry  saw  her  early 
promise,  and  encouraged  her  in  her  first  essays.  In  her  peculiar 
line  she  was  supreme,  till  the  younger  and  irresistible  talent  of 
Mrs.  Oldfield  brought  about  her  resignation.     Unlike  either  o^ 


116  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

these  brilliant  actresses,  slie  was  exposed  to  sarcasm  only  on  ac- 
count of  lier  excellent  private  character.  Platonic  friendships  slio 
did  cultivate ;  with  those,  slander  dealt  severely  enough ;  and 
writers  like  Gildon  were  found  to  declare,  that  they  believed  no 
nioi'e  in  the  innocency  of  such  friendships  than  they  believed  in 
Jnhn  Mandeville;  while  others,  like  Tom  Brown,  only  gave  her 
credit  for  a  discreet  decorum.  Gibber,  more  generous,  declares 
I  hat  her  virtuous  discretion  rendered  her  the  delight  of  the  town  ; 
that  whole  audiences  were  in  love  with  her,  because  of  her  youth, 
her  cheerful  gayety,  her  musical  voice,  and  her  happy  graces  of 
manner.  Her  form  was  perfect.  Gibber  says,  "  she  had  no 
greater  claims  to  beauty  than  what  the  most  desirable  brunette 
might  pretend  to."  Other  contemporaries  notice  her  dark  brown 
hair  and  eyebrows,  her  dark,  sparkling  eyes,  the  face  from  which 
the  blush  of  emotion  spread  in  a  flood  of  rosy  beauty  over  her 
neck,  and  the  intelligence  and  expression  which  are  superior  to 
mere  beauty.  She  so  enthralled  her  audience  that,  it  is  quaintly 
said,  she  never  made  an  exit  without  the  audience  feeling  as  if 
they  had  moulded  their  faces  into  an  imitation  of  her's.  Then 
she  was  as  good,  practically,  as  she  was  beautiful ;  and  the  poor 
of  the  neighborhood  in  which  she  resided  looked  upon  her  as 
a  beneficent  divinity. 

Her  performance  of  Statira  was  considered  a  justification  of 
the  frantic  love  of  such  an  Alexander  as  Lee's ;  and,  "  when  she 
acted  Millamant,  all  the  faults,  follies,  and  aff'ectation  of  that  agree- 
able tyrant,  were  venially  melted  down  into  so  many  charms  and 
attractions  of  a  conscious  beauty."  Young  gentlemen  of  the  town 
pronounced  tliemselves  in  tender  but  unrequited  love  with  her. 
Jack,  Lord  Lovelace,  sought  a  return  for  his  ardent  homage,  and 
obtained  not  what  he  sought.  Authors  wrote  characters  for  her, 
and  poured  out  their  own  passion  through  the  medium  of  her 
adorers  in  the  comedy.  For  her,  Gongreve  composed  his  Ara- 
minta  and  his  Gyntliia,  his  Angelica,  his  Almeria,  and  the  Mil 
ianiant,  in  the  "  Way  of  the  World,"  which  Gibber  praises  so  efti- 
ciently.  That  this  dramatist  was  the  oidy  one  whose  homage  was 
well  received  and  presence  ever  welcome  to  her,  there  is  no  dis- 
pute. When  a  report  was  abroad  that  they  were  about  to  marry, 
the  minor  poets  hailed  the  promised  union  of  wit  and  beauty  ;  and 


"their  first  appearance  on  this  stage."    117 

even  Congveve,  not  in  the  best  taste,  illustrated  her  superiority  tc 
himself,  when  he  wrote  of  her — 

Pious  Belinda  goes  to  prayers 

Whene'er  I  ask  the  favor, 
Yet  the  tender  fool's  in  tears 

When  she  thinks  I'd  leave  her. 

Would  I  were  free  from  this  restraint, 

Or  else  had  power  to  win  her ; 
Would  she  could  make  of  me  a  saint, 

Or  I  of  her  a  sinner. 

The  most  singular  testimony  ever  rendered  to  this  virtue  oc- 
curred on  the  occasion  when  Dorset,  Devonshire,  Halifax,  and 
other  peers,  were  making  of  that  virtue  a  subject  of  eulogy,  over 
a  bottle.  Halifax  remarked,  they  might  do  something  better  than 
praise  her ;  and  thereon  he  put  down  two  hundred  guineas,  which 
the  contributions  of  the  company  raised  to  eight  hundred, — and 
this  sum  was  presented  to  the  lady,  as  a  homage  to  the  rectitude 
of  her  private  character. 

Whether  she  accepted  this  tribute,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  know 
that  she  declined  another  from  Lord  Burlington,  who  had  long 
loved  her  in  vain.  "  One  day,"  says  Walpole,  "  he  sent  her  a 
present  of  some  fine  old  china.  She  told  the  servant  he  had  made  a 
mistake ;  that  it  Avas  true  the  letter  was  for  her,  but  the  china  for 
his  lady,  to  whom  he  must  carry  it.  Lord !  the  countess  was  so 
full  of  gratitude,  when  her  husband  came  home  to  dinner." 

Mrs.  Bracegirdle  lived  to  pass  the  limit  of  fourscore,  and  to  the 
last  was  visited  by  much  of  the  wit,  the  worth,  and  some  of  the 
folly  of  the  town.  On  one  occasion,  a  group  of  her  visitors  were 
discussing  the  merits  of  Garrick,  whom  she  had  not  seen,  and 
Cibber  spoke  disparagingly  of  his  Bayes,  preferring  in  that  part  his 
own  pert  and  vivacious  son,  Theophilus.  The  old  actress  tapped 
CoUey  with  her  fan  ;  "  Come,  come,  Cibber,"  she  remarked  ;  "  tell 
me  if  there  is  not  something  like  envy  in  your  character  of  this 
young  gentleman.  The  actor  who  pleases  everybody  must  be  a 
man  of  merit."  CoUey  smiled,  tapped  his  box,  took  a  pinch,  and, 
catching  the  generosity  of  the  lady,  replied :  "  Faith,  Bracey,  I 
believe  you  are  right ;  the  young  fellow  is  clever !" 


118  DOKAN's   ANNAFJi   OF   THE   STAGE. 

Between  1682  and  1695,  few  actors  were  of  greater  note  than 
luckless  Will  Mountfort,  of  whose  violent  death  the  beauty  of 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  was  the  unintentional  fault  Handsome  Will 
was  the  efficient  representative  of  fops  who  did  not  forget  that 
they  were  gentlemen.  So  graceful,  so  ardent,  so  winning  as  a 
lover,  actresses  enjoyed  the  sight  of  him  pleading  at  their  feet. 
In  the  younger  tragic  characters,  he  was  equally  effective.  His 
powers  of  mimicry  won  for  him  the  not  too  valuable  patronage 
of  Judge  Jeffries,  to  gratify  whom,  and  the  lord  mayor  and  minor 
city  magnates,  in  1685,  Mountfort  pleaded  before  them  in  a 
feigned  cause,  in  which,  says  Jacobs,  "  he  aped  all  the  great  law- 
yers of  the  age  in  their  tone  of  voice,  and  in  their  action  and 
gesture  of  body,"  to  the  delight  of  his  hearers.  On  the  stage  he 
was  one-of  the  most  natural  of  actors;  and  even  Queen  Mary  was 
constrained  to  allow,  that  disgusted  as  she  was  with  Mrs.  Behn's 
"Rover,"  she  could  not  but  admire  the  grace,  ease,  intelli- 
gence and  genius,  of  Mountfort,  who  played  the  dissolute  hero, 
sang  as  well  as  he  spoke,  and  danced  with  stately  dignity. 
But  poor  Will  was  only  the  hero  of  a  brief  hour;  and  the 
inimitable  original  of  Sir  Courtly  Nice  was  murdered  by  two 
of  the  most  consummate  villains  of  the  order  of  gentlemen,  then 
in  town. 

Charles,  Lord  Mohun,  had,  a  few  years  previous  to  this  oc- 
currence, been  tried  with  the  Earl  of  Warwick  for  a  murder, 
arising  out  of  a  coffee-house  brawl ;  on  being  acquitted  by  the 
House  of  Lords,  he  solemnly  promised  never  to  get  into  such  a 
difficulty  again.  But  one  Captain  Richard  Hill,  being  in  "  love" 
with  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  who  heartily  despised  him,  wanted  a  vil- 
lain's  assistance  in  carrying  off  the  beautiful  actress,  and  found  the 
man  and  the  aid  he  needed,  in  Lord  Mohun.  In  Buckingham 
Court,  off  the  Strand,  where  the  captain  lodged,  the  conspirators 
laid  their  plans;  and  learning  that  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  with  her 
mother  and  brother,  was  to  sup  one  evening  at  the  house  of  a 
friend,  Mr.  Page,  in  Princes  Street,  Drury  Lane,  they  hired  six 
soldiers — emissaries  always  then  to  be  had  for  such  work — to 
assist  in  seizing  her  and  carrying  her  off  in  a  carriage,  stationed 
near  Mr.  Page's  house.  About  ten  at  night,  of  the  9th  of  Decem- 
ber,   1692,    the   attempt    was  made;  but   what  with  the  lady's 


"THEIR   FIRST  APPEARANCE   OX   THIS   STAGE."      119 

screams,  the  resistance  of  the  friend  and  brother,  and  the  gather- 
ing of  an  excited  mob,  it  failed ;  and  a  strange  compromise  -n  as 
made,  whereby  Lord  Mohun  and  Hill  were  allowed  to  unite  in 
escorting  her  home  to  her  house  in  Howard  Street,  Strand.  In 
that  street  lived  also  Will  Mountfort,  against  whom  the  captain 
uttered  such  threats,  in  Mrs.  Bracegirdle's  hearing,  that  she,  find- 
ing that  my  lord  and  the  captain  remained  in  the  street, — the 
latter  with  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and  both  of  them  occasion- 
ally drinking  canary, — sent  to  Mrs.  Mountfort  to  warn  her  hus- 
band, who  was  from  home,  to  look  to  his  safety.  Warned, 
but  not  alarmed,  honest  Will,  who  loved  his  wife  and  respected 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  came  round  from  Norfolk  Street,  saluted  Lord 
Mohun  (who  embraced  him,  according  to  the  then  fashion  with 
men),  and  said  a  word  or  two  to  his  lordship,  not  complimentary 
to  the  character  of  Hill.  Thence,  from  the  latter, — words,  a  blow, 
and  a  pass  of  his  sword  through  Mountfort's  body, — which  the 
poor  actor,  as  he  lay  dying  on  the  floor  of  his  own  dining-room,  de- 
clared, was  given  by  Hill  before  Mountfort  could  draw  his  sword. 
The  captain  fled  from  England,  but  my  lord,  surrendering  to  the 
watchmen  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster,  was  tried  by  his  peers, 
fourteen  of  whom  pronounced  him  guilty  of  murder ;  but  as  above 
threescore  gave  a  different  verdict,  Mohun  lived  on  till  he  and 
the  Duke  of  Hamilton  hacked  one  another  to  death  in  that  savage 
butchery — the  famous  duel  in  Hyde  Park. 

Mountfort,  at  the  age  of  thirty-three,  and  with  some  reputation 
as  the  author  of  half  a  dozen  dramas,  was  carried  to  the  burpng- 
ground  of  St.  Clement's  Danes,  where  his  remains  rest  with  those 
of  Lowen,  one  of  the  original  actors  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  Tom 
Otway,  and  Nat.  Lee.  His  fair  and  clever  widow  became  soon  the 
wife  of  Verbruggen — a  rough  diamond — a  wild,  untaught,  yet  not 
an  unnatural  actor.  So  natural  indeed  was  he,  that  Lord  Halifax 
took  Oronooko  from  Powell,  who  was  originally  cast  for  it,  and 
gave  it  to  Verbruggen  ;  such  was  the  power  of  Lord  Chamberlains ! 
He  could  touch  tenderly  the  finer  feelings,  as  well  as  excite  the 
wilder  emotions  of  the  heart  Powell,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a 
less  impassioned  player,  who  would  appear  to  have  felt  mora 
than  he  made  his  audience  feel  ;  for  in  the  original  Spectator,  No. 
290,  February,  I7l2,  Powell  "begs  the  pubHc  to  beheve,  that  if 


120  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

he  pauses  long  in  Orestes,  lie  lias  not  forgotten  his  part,  but  is 
only  overcome  at  the  sentiment." 

Verbruggen  died  in  1708.  Among  his  many  original  characters 
were  Oronooko,  Bajazet,  Altamont,  and  Sullen,  lie  survived  his 
widow  about  five  years.  I  think  if  she  loved  Will  Mountfort,  she 
stood  in  some  awe  of  ficiy  Jack  Verbruggen  ;  who,  in  his  turn, 
seems  to  have  had  more  of  a  rough  courtesy  than  a  warm  affection 
for  her.  "  For  he  would  often  say,"  remarks  Antony  Aston — 
'"  D—  me  !  though  I  don't  much  value  my  wife,  yet  nobody  shah 
affront  her !'  and  his  sword  was  drawn  on  the  least  occasion, 
which  was  much  in  fashion  in  the  latter  end  of  King  William's 
reign."  And  let  me  add  here,  that  an  actor's  sword  was  some- 
times drawn  for  the  king.  James  Carlisle,  a  respectable  player, 
whose  comedy,  "  The  Fortune  Hunters,"  was  well  received  in  1689, 
was  not  so  tempted  by  success  as  to  prefer  authorship  to  soldier- 
ship, in  behalf  of  a  great  cause.  When  the  threatened  destruction 
of  the  Irish  Protestants  was  commenced  with  the  siege  of  London- 
derry, Carlisle  entered  King  William's  army,  serving  in  Ireland. 
In  1691  he  was  in  the  terrible  fray  in  the  morass  at  Aghrim, 
under  Ginkell,  but  immediately  led  by  Talmash.  In  the  twilight 
of  that  July  day,  the  Jacobite  general,  St.  Ruth,  and  the  poor 
player  from  Drury  Lane,  were  lying  among  the  dead ;  and  there 
James  Carlisle  was  buried,  with  the  remainder  of  the  six  hundred 
slain  on  the  victor's  side,  before  their  surviving  companions  in  arms 
marched  westward. 

Carlisle's  fellow-actor,  Bowen,  was  a  "  low  comedian"  of  some 
talent,  and  more  conceit.  A  curious  paragraph  in  the  Post-Boy, 
for  November  16th,  1700,  shows  that  he  '^^eft  the  stage  for  a  time, 
and  under  singular  circumstances.     The  paragraph  runs  thus: — 

"  We  hear  that  this  day,  Mr.  Bowen,  the  late  famous  comedian 
at  the  new  Play-house,  being  convinced  by  Mr.  Collier's  book 
against  the  stage,  and  satisfied  that  a  shopkeeper's  life  was  the 
readiest  way  to  heaven  of  the  two,  opens  a  cane-shop,  next  door 
to  the  King's  Head  Tavern,  in  Middle  Row,  Ilolborn,  where  it  is 
not  questioned  but  all  manner  of  canes,  toys,  and  other  curiosities, 
will  be  obtained  at  reasonable  rates.  This  sudden  change  is  ad- 
mired at,  as  well  as  the  reasons  which  induced  him  to  leave  such 
a  profitable  employ;  but  the  most  judicious  conclude  it  is  tho 


"  THEIR   FIRST   APPEARANCE   ON   THIS   STAGE."      121 

effect  of  a  certain  person's  good  natui-e,  who  has  more  compassion 
for  his  soul  than  for  his  own." 

Bowen  was  not  absent  from  tlie  stage  more  than  a  year.  He 
was  so  jealous  of  his  reputation,  that  when  he  had  been  driven  to  fury 
by  the  assertion  that  Johnson  played  Jacomo,  in  the  "  Libertine," 
better  than  he  did,  and  by  the  emphatic  confirmation  of  the  asser 
tion  by  Quin,  he  fastened  a  quarrel  on  the  latter,  got  him  in  a 
room  in  a  tavern,  alone,  set  his  back  to  the  door,  drew  his  sword, 
and  assailed  Quin  with  such  blind  fury,  that  he  killed  himself  by 
falling  on  Quin's  weapon.  The  dying  Irishman,  however,  gener- 
ously acquitted  his  advei-sary  of  all  blame,  and  the  greater  actor, 
after  trial,  returned  to  his  duty,  having  innocently  killed,  but  not 
convinced  poor  Bowen,  who  naturally  preferred  his  Jacomo  to 
that  of  Johnson. 

Peer,  later  in  life,  came  to  grief  also,  but  in  a  different  way. 
The  spare  man  was  famous  for  two  parts ;  the  Apothecary,  in 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  the  actor  who  humbly  speaks  the  pro- 
logue to  the  play,  in  "  Hamlet."  These  parts  he  played  excel- 
lently well.  Nature  had  made  him  for  them ;  but  she  was  not 
constant  to  her  meek  and  lean  favorite ;  for  Peer  grew  fat,  and 
being  unable  to  act  any  other  character  with  equal  effect,  he  lost 
his  vocation,  and  he  died  lingeringly  of  grief,  in  I7l3,  when  he 
had  passed  threescore  yeai's  and  ten.  He  had  been  property-man 
also,  and  in  this  capacity  the  theatre  owed  him,  at  the  time  of  his 
decease,  among  other  trifling  sums,  "  threepence,  for  blood,  in 
'  Macbeth.' " 

Norris,  or  "  Jubilee  Dicky,"  was  a  player  of  an  odd,  formal, 
little  figure,  and  a  squeaking  voice.  He  was  a  capital  comic 
actor,  and  owed  his  bye-name  to  his  success  in  playing  Dicky,  in 
the  "  Constant  Couple."  So  great  was  this  success,  that  his  sons 
seemed  to  derive  value  from  it,  and  were  announced  as  the  sons 
of  Jubilee  Dicky.  He  is  said  to  have  acted  Cato,  and  other  tragic 
characters,  in  a  serio-burlesque  manner.  He  was  the  original 
Scrub  and  Don  Lopez,  in  the  "  Wonder,"  and  died  about  the  year 
1733. 

Doggett,  who  was  before  the   public  from    1691   to   1713,  and 
who  died  in  1721,  was  a  Dublin  man — a  failure  in  his  native  city, 
but  in  London   a  deserved  favorite,  for  his  original   and   natural 
Vol.  I. — 6 


122  doran's  annals  of  the  stage, 

comic  powers.  He  always  acted  Sbylock  as  a  ferociously  comic 
character,  Congreve  discerned  his  talent,  and  wrote  for  him 
Fondlewife  in  the  "  Old  Bachelor,"  Sir  Paul  Pliant  in  the  "  Double 
Dealer,"  and  the  very  difterent  part  of  Ben  in  "  Love  for  Love." 
This  little,  lively,  cheerful  fellow,  was  a  conscientious  actor.  Some- 
vhat  illiterate — he  spelt  "whole"  phonetically,  without  tlie  v) — 
he  was  a  gentleman  in  his  acts  and  bearing.  He  was  prudent  too, 
and  when  he  retired  from  partnership  in  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
with  Gibber  and  Wilks  (from  1709  to  1712),  on  the  admission  of 
Booth,  which  displeased  him,  he  was  considered  worth  £1,000  a 
year.  The  consciousness  of  his  value,  and  his  own  independence 
of  character,  gave  some  trouble  to  managers  and  Lord  Chamber- 
lains. On  one  occasion,  having  left  Drury  Lane,  at  some  ofience 
given,  he  went  to  Norwich,  whence  he  was  brought  up  to  London, 
under  my  Lord's  warrant,  Doggett  lived  luxuriously  on  the  road, 
at  the  Chamberlain's  expense,  and  when  he  came  to  town,  Chief 
Justice  Holt  liberated  him,  on  some  informality  in  the  procedure. 

Little  errors  of  temper,  and  extreme  carefulness  in  guarding  his 
own  interests,  are  now  forgotten.  Of  his  strong  political  feeling 
we  still  possess  a  trace,  Doggett  was  a  stanch  Whig,  The  ac- 
cession of  the  house  of  Brunswick  dated  from  a  first  of  August. 
On  that  day,  in  1716,  and  under  George  L,  Doggett  gave  "an 
orange-colored  livery,  with  a  badge,  representing  Liberty,"  to  be 
rowed  for  by  six  watermen,  whose  apprenticeship  had  expired 
during  the  preceding  year.  He  left  funds  for  the  same  race  to  be 
rowed  for  annually,  from  London  Bridge  to  Chelsea,  "  on  the 
same  day  for  ever,"  The  match  still  takes  place,  with  modifica- 
tions caused  by  changes  on  and  about  the  river ;  but  the  winners 
of  the  money-prizes,  now  delivered  at  Fishmongers'  Hall,  have  yet 
to  be  thankful  for  that  prudence  in  Doggett,  which  was  sneered  at 
by  his  imprudent  contemporaries, 

Doggett  never  took  liberties  with  an  audience ;  Pinkcthman 
was  much  addicted  to  that  bad  habit.  He  would  insert  nonsense 
of  his  own,  appeal  to  the  gallery,  and  delight  in  their  support.,  and 
the  confusion  into  which  the  other  actors  on  the  stage  were  thrown  ; 
but  the  joke  grew  stale  at  last,  and  the  offender  was  brought  to 
his  senses  by  loud  disapprobation.  He  did  not  lose  liis  self-pos- 
session ;  but  assuming  a  penitent  air,  with  a  submissive  glance  at 


"THEIR   FIRST  APPEARANCE   ON  THIS   STAGE."       123 

the  audience,  he  said  in  a  stage  aseo?e,"  Odso,  I  believe  I  have  been 
in  the  wrong  here  !"  This  cleverly-made  confession  brought  down 
a  round  of  applause,  and  "  Pinkey"  made  his  exit,  corrected,  but 
not  disgraced.  Another  trait  of  his  stage  life  is  worthy  of  notice. 
He  had  been  remarkable  for  his  reputation  as  a  speaking  Harle- 
quin, in  the  "  Emperor  of  the  Moon."  His  wit,  audacity,  empha- 
sis, and  point,  delighted  the  critics,  who  thought  that  "  expression" 
would  be  more  perfect  if  the  actor  laid  aside  the  inevitable  mask 
of  Harlequin.  Pinkethman  did  so  ;  but  all  expression  was  thereby 
lost.  It  was  no  longer  the  saucy  Harlequin  that  seemed  speaking. 
Pinkey,  so  impudent  on  all  other  occasions,  was  uneasy  and  feeble 
on  this,  and  his  audacity  and  vivacity  only  returned  on  his  again 
assuming  the  sable  vizard. 

Pinkethman  was  entirely  the  architect  of  his  own  fortune.  He 
made  his  way  by  talent  and  industry.  He  established  the  Rich- 
mond Theatre,  and  there  was  no  booth  at  Greenwich,  Richmond, 
or  May-Fair,  so  well  patronized  as  his.  "  He's  the  darling  of 
Forimmtus^''  says  Downes,  "  and  has  gained  more  in  theatres  and 
fairs  in  twelve  years  than  those  who  have  tugged  at  the  oar  of 
acting  these  fifty." 

After  the  division  of  the  company  into  two,  in  1695,  the  following 
new  actors  appeared  between  that  period  and  the  close  of  the  cen- 
tury. At  Drury  Lane — Hildebrand  Horden,  Mrs.  Gibber,  John- 
son, Bullock,  Mills,  Wilks ;  and,  as  if  the  century  should  expire, 
reckoning  a  new  glory, — Mrs.  Oldfield.  At  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
— Tlmrmond,  Scudamore,  Verbruggen,  who  joined  from  Drury 
Lane,  leaving  his  clever  wife  there,  Pack ;  and,  that  this  house 
might  boast  a  glory  something  like  that  enjoyed  by  its  rival,  in 
Mrs.  Oldfield, — in  1700,  Booth  made  his  first  appearance,  with  a 
success,  the  significance  of  which  was  recognized  and  welcomed 
by  the  discerning  and  generous  Betterton. 

Mrs.  Oldfield,  Wilks,  and  Booth,  like  Golley  Gibber,  though  they 
appeared  towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth,  really  belong 
to  the  eighteenth  century,  and  I  shall  defer  noticing  them  till  my 
readers  and  I  arrive  at  that  latter  period.  The  rest  will  require 
but  a  few  words.  Young  Horden  was  a  handsome  and  promising 
actor,  who  died  of  a  brawl  at  the  Rose  Tavern,  Govent  Garden. 
He  and  two  or  three  comrades  were  quaflSng  their  wine,  and 


124  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

laughing  at  the  bar,  when  some  fine  gentlemen,  in  an  adjacent 
room,  aftecting  to  be  disturbed  by  the  gayety  of  the  players,  rudely 
ordered  them  to  be  quiet.  The  actors  returned  an  answer  wliich 
brought  blood  to  the  check,  fierce  words  to  the  lips,  hand  to  the 
sword,  and  a  resulting  fight,  in  which  the  handsome  Ilildcbrand 
was  slain,  by  a  Captain  Burgess.  The  captain  was  carried  to  the 
Gate-house,  from  which,  says  the  Protestant  Mercury,  he  was 
rescued  at  night,  "  by  a  dozen  or  more  of  fellows  with  short  clubs 
and  pistols."  So  ended,  in  1696,  Ilildebrand  Ilorden,  not  with- 
out the  sympathy  of  loving  women,  who  went  in  masks,  and  some 
without  the  vizard,  to  look  upon  and  wetep  over  his  handsome, 
shrouded  corse.  A  couple  of  paragraphs  in  Luttrell's  Diary  con- 
clude Horden's  luckless  story:  "Saturday,  17th  October,  Mr. 
John  Pitts  was  tried  at  the  session  for  killing  Mr.  Horden,  the 
player,  and  acquitted,  he  being  no  ways  accessary  thereto,  more 
than  being  in  company  when  'twas  done."  On  Tuesday,  30th 
November,  1697,  the  diarist  writes  :  "Captain  Burgess,  who  killed 
Mr.  Horden,  the  player,  has  obtained  his  Majesty's  pardon." 

Of  Mrs.  Gibber,  it  can  only  be  said  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a 
great,  and  of  Bullock,  that  he  was  the  father  of  a  good,  actor.  To 
Johnson  no  more  praise  can  be  awarded  than  to  Bullock.  Wil- 
liam Mills  deserves  a  word  or  two  more  of  notice  than  these  last. 
He  was  on  the  stage  from  1696  to  1737,  and  though  oiily  a 
"  solid"  actor,  he  excelled  Gibber  in  Corvino,  in  Jonson's  "  Vol- 
pone  ;"  surpassed  Smith  in  the  part  of  Pierre,  and  was  only  second 
to  Quin,  in  Volpone  himself  His  Ventidius,  in  Dryden's 
tragedy,  "  All  for  Love,"  to  Booth's  Anthony,  is  praised  for  its 
natural  display  of  the  true  spirit  of  a  rough  and  generous  soldier. 
Of  his  original  parts,  the  chief  were  Jack  Stanmore,  in  "Oro- 
nooko ;"  Aimwell,  in  the  "  Beaux  Strategem ;"  Charles,  in  the 
"Busy  Body;"  Pylades,  in  the  "Distressed  Mother;"  Colonel 
Briton,  in  the  "  Wonder ;"  Zanga,  in  the  "  Revenge ;"  and  Maidy, 
in  the  "  Provoked  Husband."  That  some  of  these  were  beyond 
his  powers  is  certain ;  but  he  owed  his  being  cast  for  them  to 
the  friendship  of  Wilks,  when  the  latter  was  manager.  To  a  like 
cause  may  be  ascribed  the  circumstance  of  his  having  the  same 
salary  as  Betterton,  £4  per  week,  and  £l  for  his  wife  ;  but  this 
was  not  till  after  Betterton's  death. 


"their  first  appearance  on  this  stage,"     125 

At  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Thurmond,  though  a  respectable  actor, 
failed  to  shake  any  of  the  public  confidence  in  Bctterton.  Of 
Scudamore,  I  have  already  spoken.  Pack  was  a  vivacious  comic 
actor,  whose  "line"  is  well  indicated  in  the  characters  of  Brass, 
Marplot,  and  Lissardo,  of  which  he  was  the  original  representative. 
He  withdrew  from  the  stage  in  1721,  a  bachelor;  and,  in  the 
meridian  of  life,  opened  a  tavern  in  Charing  Cross.  I  have  now 
named  the  principal  actors  and  actresses  who  first  appeared,  be- 
tween the  Restoration  and  the  year  1701,  Betterton  and  Mrs. 
Barry  being  the  noblest  of  the  players  of  that  half  century ;  Gib- 
ber, Booth,  and  Mrs.  Oldficld,  the  bright  promises  of  the  century  to 
come.  It  is  disappointing,  however,  to  find  that  in  the  very  last 
year  of  the  seventeenth  century  "the  gi'and  jury  of  Middlesex 
presented  the  two  play-houses,  and  also  the  bear  garden,  as 
nuisances  and  riotous  and  disorderly  assemblies."  So  Luttrell 
writes,  in  December  1700,  at  which  time,  as  contemporary  ac- 
counts inform  us,  the  theatres  were  "  pestered  with  tumblers, 
rope-dancers,  and  dancing  men  and  dogs  from  France."  Better- 
ton  was  then  in  declining  health,  and  appeared  only  occasionally ; 
the  houses,  lacking  other  attractions,  were  ill  attended,  and  public 
taste  was  stimulated  by  oftering  the  "  fun  of  a  fair,"  where  Mrs. 
Barry  had  drowned  a  whole  house  in  tears.  The  grand  jury  of 
Middlesex  did  not  see  that  with  rude  amusements  the  spectators 
grew  rude  too.  The  jury  succeeded  in  preventing  play-bills  from 
being  posted  in  the  city,  and  denounced  the  stage  as  a  pastime 
which  led  the  way  to  murder.  This  last  denunciation  was 
grounded  on  the  fact,  that  Sir  Andrew  Stanning  had  been  killed 
just  before,  on  his  way  from  the  play-house.  When  men  wore 
swords  and  hot  tempers  these  catastrophes  were  not  infrequent. 
In  1682,  a  coftee-house  was  sometimes  turned  into  a  shambles  by 
gentlemen  calling  the  actors  at  the  Duke's  House  "papists.'" 
What  was  the  cause  of  the  fray  in  which  Sir  Andrew  fell  I  do 
not  know.  Whatever  it  was,  he  was  run  through  the  body  by 
Mr.  Cowlan  ;  and  that  the  latter  took  some  unfeir  advantage  is  to 
be  supposed,  since  he  was  found  guilty  of  murder,  and  in  Decem- 
ber, 1700,  was  executed  at  Tyburn,  with  six  other  malefactors, 
who,  on  the  same  day,  in  the  Newgate  slang  of  the  period,  went 
Westward  Hoe  ! 


126  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

On  the  poor  players  fell  all  the  disgrace ;  but  I  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  show,  in  the  next  chapter,  that  the  fault  lay  rather  with 
the  poets.  These,  in  their  turn,  laid  blame  upon  the  public ;  but 
it  is  the  poet's  business  to  elevate,  and  not  to  pander  to  a  low 
taste.  The  foremost  men  of  the  tuneful  brotherhood,  of  the 
period  from  the  Restoration  to  the  end  of  the  century,  have  mach 
to  answer  for  in  this  last  respect. 


THE   DRAMATIC   POETS.  127 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  DRAMATIC    POETS. 
Noble,  gentle,  and  humble  Authors. 

It  is  a  curious  fact,  that  the  number  of  dramatic  writers  between 
the  years  1659-1700,  inchisive,  exceeds  that  of  the  actors.  A 
glance  at  the  following  list  will  show  this : 

Sir.  W.  Davenant,  Diyden,  Porter,  Mrs.  Behn,  Lee,  Cowley, 
Hon.  James  Howard,  Shadwell,  Sir  S.  Tuke,  Sir  R.  Stapylton, 
Lord  Broghill  (Earl  of  Orrery),  Flecknoe,  Sir  George  Etherege, 
Sir  R.  Howard,  Lacy  (actor),  Betterton  (actor).  Earl  of  Bristol, 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  Dr.  Rhodes,  Sir  Edward  Howard,  Settle, 
Caryll  (Earl  of  Caryll,  of  James  IL's  creation),  Henry  Lucius 
Carey  (Viscount  Falkland),  Duke  of  Newcastle,  Shirley,  Sir 
Charles  Sedley,  Mrs.  Boothby,  Medbourne  (actor),  Corye,  Revet, 
Crowne,  Ravenscroft,  Wycherley,  Arrowsmith,  Ncvil  Payne,  Sir 
W.  Killigrew,  Duflfet,  Sir  F.  Fane,  Otway,  Durfey,  Rawlins, 
Leanard,  Bankes,  Pordage,  Rymer,  Shipman,  Tate,  Bancroft, 
Whitaker,  Maidwell,  Saunders  (a  boy  poet),  and  Southerne. 

Here  are  already  nearly  threescore  authors  (some  few  of  whom 
had  commenced  their  career  prior  to  the  Restoration)  who  sup- 
plied the  two  theatres,  between  1659  and  1682,  in  which  latter 
year  began  that  "Union,"  under  which  London  had  but  one 
theatre,  till  the  year  1695. 

Within  the  thirteen  years  of  the  Union,  appeared  as  dramatic 
writers, 

The  Earl  of  Rochester ; — Jevon,  Mountfort,  Harris,  Powell,  and 
Carlisle  (actors) ;  Wilson,  Brady,  Congreve,  Wright,  and  Higden. 

From  the  period  of  the  dissolution  of  the  Union  to  the  end  of 
the  century  occur  the  names  of 

Colley  Cibber  (actor),  Mrs.  Trotter  (Cockburn)  Gould,  Mrs.  Pix, 
Mrs.  Manley,  Norton,  Scott,  Doggett  (actor),  Dryden,  jun.,  Lord 


128  DORAiS's   AJSNALS   OF   THE   .' TAGE. 

Lanadowne  (Granville)  Dilke,  Sir  John  Vaubrugh,  Gildon,  Drake, 
Fihner,  Motteux,  Hopkins,  Walker,  W.  Phillips,  Farquhar,  Boyer, 
Dennis,  Burnaby,  Oldmixon,  Mrs.  Centlivre  (Carroll)  Crauford, 
and  Rowe. 

In  the  above  list  there  are  above  a  hundred  names  of  authors, 
rone  of  whose  productions  can  now  be  called  stock-pieces ;  though 
of  some  four  or  five  of  these  writers  a  play  is  occasionally  perform- 
ed, to  try  an  actor's  skill  or  tempt  an  indifterent  audience. 

Of  the  actors  who  became  authors.  Gibber  alone  was  eminently 
successful,  and  of  him  I  shall  speak  apart.  The  remainder  wore 
mere  adapters.  Of  Betterton's  eight  plays,  I  find  one  tragedy 
borrowed  fi-om  Webster;  and  of  his  comedies,  one  was  taken 
from  Marston ;  a  second  raised  on  Moliere's,  George  Dandin;  a 
third  was  never  printed ;  his  "  Henry  the  Fourth"  was  one  of 
those  unhallowed  outrages  on  Shakspeare,  of  which  the  century 
in  which  it  appeared  was  prolific ;  his  "  Bondman"  was  a  poor  re- 
construction of  Massinger's  play,  in  which  Betterton  himself  was 
marvellously  great ;  and  his  "  Prophetess"  was  a  conversion  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  tragedy  into  an  opera,  by  the  efficient 
aid  of  Henry  Purcell,  who  published  the  music  in  score,  in  1691. 
There  was  noble  music  wedded  to  noble  words,  and  for  the  re- 
creation of  those  who  could  appreciate  neither ;  there  was  a  dance 
of  quaint  figures  from  whom,  when  about  to  sit  down,  the  chairs 
slipped  under  them,  took  up  the  measure,  and  concluded  by 
dancing  it  out. 

Medbourne  produced  only  his  translation  of  the  "Tartufte," 
Jevon  only  one  comedy.  Mountfort,  like  Betterton,  was  an  indif- 
ferent author.  His  "Injured  Lovers"  ends  almost  as  tragically 
as  the  apocryphal  play  in  which  all  the  characters  being  killed  at 
the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  tlie  concluding  act  is  brought  to  a  close 
by  their  executors.  In  Mountfort's  loyal  tragedy  all  the  princijtal 
personages  receive  their  quietus,  and  the  denouement  is  left  in  the 
hands  of  a  solitary  and  wicked  colonel,  with  a  contented  mind. 
"  Edward  the  Third"  is  so  much  more  natural  than  the  above, 
that  it  is  by  some  assigned  to  Bancroft,  while  "Zelinani"  is  only 
hypothetically  attributed  to  Mountfort,  on  the  ground,  apparently, 
of  its  absurdities.  In  the  preface  to  his  "  Successful  Strangers," 
Mountfort   modestly  remarks,   "I   have  a  natural  inclination  to 


THE   DRAMATIC   POETS.  129 

poetry,  which  was  born  and  not  bred  in  me."  He  showed  small 
inventive  power  in  his  bustling  comedy,  "Greenwich  Park,"  and 
less  respect  for  a  master  in  minstrelsy,  when  he  turned  poor  Kit 
Marlowe's  "  Doctor  Faustus"  into  an  impassioned  sort  of  bur- 
lesque, with  the  addition  of  Harlequin  and  Scaramouch  to  give 
zest  to  the  buffoonery  ! 

Carlisle,  the  actor  who  fell  at  Aghrim,  was  the  author  of  the 
"  Fortune  Hunters;"  and  Joseph  Harris,  who  was  a  poor  comedian, 
and  the  marrer  of  four  adapted  and  unsuccessful  plays,  resumed, 
under  Queen  Anne,  his  original  vocation  of  engraver  to  the  Mint. 
The  age  was  one  of  adapters,  whose  cry  was  that  Shakspeare 
would  not  attract,  and  accordingly  George  Powell  combined 
authorship  with  acting,  and  borrowed  from  Shirley,  from  Brome, 
and  from  Middleton.  Mrs.  Pix,  and  the  romancers,  produced  a 
few  plays,  from  one  of  which  a  recent  dramatist  has  stolen  as 
boldly  as  George  himself  was  wont  to  steal.  I  allude  to  the  "  Im- 
posture Defeated,"  in  which  Artan  (a  demon)  enables  Hernando, 
a  physician,  to  foretell  the  fate  of  each  patient,  according  as  Artan 
takes  his  stand  at  the  foot,  or  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  One  word 
will  suffice  for  Doggett's  contribution  to  stage  literature.  He  was 
the  author  of  one  lively,  but  not  edifying,  piece,  entitled  the 
"  Country  Wake,"  in  which  he  provided  himself  with  a  taking 
part  called  Hob,  and  one  for  Mrs.  Bracegirdle, — Flora.  In  a  mod- 
ified form,  this  piece  was  known  to  our  grandfathers  as  "  Flora ;" 
or,  "  Hob  in  the  Well." 

The  actors  themselves,  then,  were  not  efficient  as  authors.  Let 
us  now  see  what  the  noble  gentlemen,  the  amateur  rather  than 
professional  poets,  contributed  towards  the  public  entertainment 
and  their  own  reputation  during  the  last  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 

They  may  be  reckoned  at  a  dozen  and'  a  half,  from  dukes  to 
knights.  Of  the  two  dukes,  Buckingham  and  Newcastle;  the 
fiirmer  is  the  more  distinguished  dramatic  writer.  He  was  a  man 
cf  great  wit  and  no  virtue ;  a  member  of  two  universities,  but  no 
honor  to  either.  He  was  one  who  respected  neither  his  own  wife 
nor  his  neighbor's,  and  was  faithful  to  the  King  only  as  long  as 
the  King  would  condescend  to  obey  his  caprices.  From  1627, 
when  he  was  bom,  to  April,  1688,  the  year  of  his  death,  history 
6* 


130  dokan's  axnals  of  the  stage. 

has  placed  no  generous  action  of  his  upon  record,  but  has  regis- 
tered many  a  crime  and  meanness.  He  lived  a  profligate  peer,  in 
a  magnificence  almost  oriental ;  he  died  a  beggar ;  bankrupt  in 
every  thing  but  impudence,  Dryden  and  Pope  have  given  him 
everlasting  infamy  ;  the  latter  not  without  a  touch  of  pity,  felt  not 
at  all  by  the  former.  Historians  have  justified  the  severity  of  the 
poets  ;  Gilbert  Burnet  has  dismissed  him  with  a  sneer,  and  Baxter 
has  thrown  in  a  word  on  behalf  of  his  humanity. 

His  play  of  the  "  Chances"  was  a  mere  adaptation  of  the  piece 
so  named,  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  Plays  which  were  at- 
tributed to  him,  but  of  which  he  was  not  the  author,  need  not  be 
mentioned.  The  Duke's  dramatic  reputation  rests  on  his  great 
burlesque  tragedy,  the  "  Rehearsal ;"  but  even  in  this  he  is  said 
to  have  had  the  assistance  of  Butler,  Martin  Clifford,  and  Dr. 
Sprat.  Written  to  deride  the  bombastic  tragedies  then  in  vogue, 
Davenant,  Dryden,  and  Sir  Robert  Howard  are,  by  turns,  struck 
at,  under  the  person  of  the  poet  Bayes ;  and  the  irritability  of  the 
second,  under  the  allusions,  are  perhaps  warrant  that  the  satire 
was  good.  The  humor  is  good,  too  ;  the  very  first  exhibition  of  it 
excited  the  mirth  which  afterwards  broke  into  peal  upon  peal  of 
laughter.  The  rehearsed  play  commences  with  a  scene  between 
the  royal  usher  and  the  royal  physician,  in  a  series  of  whispers ; 
for,  as  Mr.  Bayes  remarks,  the  two  oflScials  were  plotting  against 
the  King ;  but  this  fact  it  was  necessary,  as  yet,  to  keep  fi-om  the 
audience ! 

Mr,  Cavendish,  whose  services  in  the  royal  cause  deservedly 
earned  for  him  that  progress  through  the  peerage  which  termina- 
ted in  his  creation  as  Duke  of  Newcastle,  was  tlie  opposite  of 
Buckingham  in  most  things  save  his  taste  for  magnificence,  in 
which  he  surpassed  Villiers.  Two  thousand  pounds  were  as 
cheerfully  spent  on  feasting  Charles  I.,  as  the  duke's  blood  was 
vainly  shed  for  the  same  monarch  in  the  field.  He  lived  like  a 
man  who  had  the  purse  of  Fortunatus ;  but  in  exile  at  Antwerp, 
he  pawned  his  best  clothes  and  jewels,  that  he  and  his  celebrated 
wife  might  have  the  means  of  existence.  He  was  tlie  author  of  a 
few  plays,  two  of  which  were  represented  after  the  Restoration. 
The  "  Country  Captain,"  and  "  Variety,"  were  composed  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  I.     The  "  Humorous  Lovers,"  and  the  "  Triuiu 


THE   DRAM.ITIC    POETS.  131 

pliant  Widow,"  subsequently.  These  are  bustling  but  immoral 
comedies,  suiting,  but  not  correcting  the  vices  of  the  times ;  and 
singular,  in  their  slip-shod  style,  as  coming  from  the  author  of  the 
pompous  treatise  on  horses  and  horsemanship.  Pepys  ascribes 
the  "  Humorous  Lovers"  to  the  duchess.  He  calls  it  a  "  silly 
play ;  the  most  silly  thing  that  ever  came  iipon  a  stage.  I  was 
sick  to  sec  it,  but  yet  would  not  but  have  seen  it,  that  I  might  the 
better  understand  her."  Pepys  is  equally  severe  against  the 
"  Country  Captain."  The  duke  seems  to  have  aiined  at  the 
delineation  of  character,  particularly  in  "Variety,"  and  the 
"  Triumphant  Widow,  or,  the  Medley  of  Humors."  Johnson 
grieves  over  the  oblivion  which,  in  his  time,  had  fallen  on  these 
works,  and  later  authors  have  declared  that  the  duke's  comedies 
ought  not  to  have  been  forgotten.  They  have  at  least  been  re- 
membered by  some  of  our  modern  novelists  in  want  of  in- 
cident. 

Of  the  three  earls,  all  of  whose  pieces  were  produced  previous 
to  1680,  there  is  not  much  to  be  said  in  praise.  The  eccentric, 
clever,  brave,  inconsistent,  contradictory  George  Digby,  Earl  of 
Bristol,  he  who  turned  Romanist  at  the  instigation  of  Don  John 
of  Austria,  and  aiming  at  office  himself,  conspired  against  Claren- 
don, was  the  author  of  one  acted  piece,  "  Elvira,"  one  of  the  two 
out  of  which  Mrs.  Centlivre  built  up  her  own  clever  bit  of  mosaic, 
the  "  Wonder."  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester,  in  whom  all  the  vices 
of  Buckingham  were  exaggerated ;  to  wdiom  virtue  and  honor 
seemed  disgusting,  and  even  the  affectation  of  them,  or  of  ordinary 
decency,  an  egregious  folly,  found  leisure  in  the  least  feverish 
hour  of  some  five  years'  drunkenness,  to  give  to  the  stage  an  adap- 
tation of  "  Valentinian,"  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  in  which  he 
assigned  a  part  to  Mrs.  Barry — the  very  last  that  any  other  lover 
would  have  thought  of  for  his  mistress.  The  noble  poet,  little 
more  than  thirty  years  old,  lay  in  a  dishonored  grave  when  his 
piece  was  represented,  in  1G80  ;  but  the  young  actress  just  named, 
gayly  alluded,  in  a  prologue,  to  the  demure  nymphs  in  the  house 
who  had  succumbed,  nothing  loath,  to  the  irresistible  blandish- 
ments of  this  very  prince  of  blackguards. 

The  Earl  of  Caryll  was  a  man  of  another  spirit.  He  was  the 
Lead  of  the  family  to  w  hich  Pope's  Carylls  belonged,  and  being  a 


132  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

faithful  servant  of  James  II.,  in  adversity  as  well  as  in  prosperity, 
the  King  made  him  an  earl,  at  that  former  period,  when  the  law 
of  England  did  not  recognize  the  creation.  Caryll  was  of  the 
party  who  talked  of  the  unpopularity  of  Shakspeare,  and  who  for 
the  poet's  gold  offered  poor  tinsel  of  their  own.  His  rhymed 
drama  of  the  "  English  Princess,  or  the  death  of  Richard  the 
Third,"  owed  its  brief  favor  to  the  acting  of  Betterton,  who  could 
n;nder  even  nonsense  imposing.  His  comedy  of  "  vSir  Solomon, 
or  the  Cautious  Coxcomb,"  was  "  taken  from  the  French."  The 
chief  scenes  were  mere  translations  of  Moliere's  "  Ecole  des  Fem- 
mes ;"  but  life,  and  fun,  and  wit,  were  given  to  them  again  by 
Betterton,  who  in  the  comic  old  Sir  Solomon  shook  the  sides  of 
the  "  house,"  as  easily  as  he  could,  in  other  characters,  move  them 
to  wonder,  or  melt  them  to  tears. 

In  1664,  another  "  lance  was  broken  with  Shakspeare"  by  Lord 
Orrery,  the  Lord  Broghill  of  earlier  days.  There  was  something 
dramatic  in  this  Lord's  life.  He  was  a  marvellous  boy,  younger 
son  of  a  marvellous  father,  the  "  great  Earl  of  Cork."  Before  he 
■was  fifteen,  Dublin  University  was  proud  of  him.  At  that  age  he 
went  on  the  "  grand  tour,"  at  twenty  married  the  Earl  of  Suffolk's 
daughter,  and  landed  in  Ireland,  to  keep  his  wedding,  on  the  very 
day  of  the  outbreak  of  the  Rebellion  of  1641.  The  young  bride- 
groom fought  bravely  for  homestead  and  king,  and  went  into  exile 
when  that  king  was  slain  ;  but  he  heeded  the  lure  of  Cromwell, 
won  for  him  the  victory  of  Macroom,  rescued  him  from  defeat  at 
Clonmel,  and  crushed  Muskerry,  and  his  numerous  Papal  host. 
From  Richard  Cromwell,  Broghill  kept  aloof,  and  helped  forward 
the  Restoration,  for  which  service  Charles  made  him  a  peer — 
Earl  of  Orrery.  The  earl  showed  his  gratitude  by  deifying  kings, 
and  inculcating  submissivencss,  teaching  the  impeccability  of  mon- 
archs,  and  the  extreme  naughtiness  of  their  people.  Pepys 
comicly  bewails  the  fact,  that  on  going  to  see  a  new  piece  by  ' 
Orrery  he  only  sees  an  old  one  under  a  new  name,  such  wearying 
sameness  is  there  in  the  rhymed  phi-ases  of  them  all. 

Orrery's  tilt  against  Shakspeare  is  comprised  in  his  attempt  to 
suppress  that  poet's  "  Henry  V.,"  by  giving  one  of  his  ov.-n,  in 
which  Henry  and  Owen  Tudor  are  simultaneously  in  love  with 
Katherine  of  France.     The  love  is  carried  on  in  a  style  of  stilted 


THE    DRAMATIC   POETS.  133 

burlesque;  and  y3t  the  dignity  and  wit  of  this  piece  enraptured 
Pepys — but  then  he  saw  it  at  Court,  in  December,  1666;  Lord 
Bellasis  having  taken  him  to  \Yhitehall,  after  seeing  "  Macbeth" 
at  the  duke's  house ; — "  and  there,"  he  says,  "  after  all  staying 
above  an  hour  for  the  players,  the  King  and  all  waiting,  which  was 
absurd,  saw  '  Henry  V.'  well  done  by  the  duke's  people,  and  in 
most  excellent  habits,  all  new  vests,  being  put  on  but  this  night. 
But  I  sat  so  high,  and  so  far  off,  that  I  missed  most  of  the  words, 
and  sat  with  a  wind  coming  into  my  back  and  neck,  which 
did  much  trouble  me.  The  play  continued  till  twelve  at  night, 
and  then  up,  and  a  most  horrid  cold  night  it  was,  and  frosty,  and 
moonshine ;"  and  it  might  have  been  worse. 

In  Orrery's  "  Mustapha"  and  "  Tryphon,"  the  theme  is  all  love 
and  honor,  without  variation.  Orrery's  "  Mr.  Anthony"  is  a  five 
act  farce,  in  ridicule  of  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  Puritans, 
Therein  the  noble  author  rolls  in  the  mire  for  the  gratification  of 
the  pure-muided  cavaliers.  Over  Orrery's  "  Black  Prince,"  even 
vigilant  Mr.  Pepys  himself  fell  asleep,  in  spite  of  the  stately  dances. 
Perhaps  he  was  confused  by  the  author's  illustration  of  genea- 
logical history ;  for  in  this  play,  Joan,  the  wife  of  the  Black  Prince, 
is  described  as  the  widow  of  Edmund,  Earl  of  Kent — her  father  ! 
But  what  mattered  it  to  the  writer  whose  only  teaching  to  the 
audience  was,  that  if  they  did  not  fear  God,  they  must  take  care- 
to  honor  the  King  ?  Orrery's  "  Altemira"  was  not  produced  till 
long  after  his  death.  It  is  a  roar  of  passion,  love  (or  what  passed 
for  it),  jealousy,  despair,  and  murder.  In  the  concluding  scene  the 
slaughter  is  terrific.  It  all  takes  place  in  presence  of  an  unobtru- 
sive individual,  who  carries  the  doctrine  of  non-intervention  to  its 
extreme  limit.  When  the  persons  of  the  drama  have  made  an 
end  of  one  another,  the  quietly  delighted  gentleman  steps  forward, 
and  blandly  remarks,  that  there  was  so  much  virtue,  love,  and 
honor  in  it  all,  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart  to  interfere 
though  his  own  son  was  one  of  the  victims ! 

A  contemporary  of  Orrery,  young  Henry  Carey,  Viscount  Falk- 
land, son  of  the  immortal  soldier  who  fell  at  Newburj^  wrote  one 
piece,  the  "  Marriage  Night,"  of  which  I  know  nothing,  save  that 
it  was  played  in  the  Lent  of  1664 ;  but  I  do  know  that  the  author 
had  wit,  for  when  some  one  remarked,  as  Carey  took  his  seat  in 


134  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  House  of  Conmions  for  the  first  time,  that  he  looked  as  if  he 
had  not  sown  his  wild  oats,  he  replied,  that  he  had  come  to  the 
place  where  there  were  geese  enough  to  pick  them  up  ! 

The  last  of  the  dramatic  lords  of  this  century  was  that  Lord 
Lansdowne  whom  Pope  called  "Granville  the  polite,"  and  absurdly 
compared  with  Surrey,  by  awkwardly  calling  the  latter  the  "  Gran- 
ville of  a  former  age."  Granville  was  a  statesman,  a  Tory,  a  stitf- 
backed  gentleman  in  a  stiff-backed  period,  and  a  sufferer  for  his 
opinions.  Driven  into  leisure,  he  addressed  himself  to  literature, 
in  connection  with  which  he  committed  a  crime  against  the 
majesty  of  Shakspeare,  which  was  unpardonable.  He  recon- 
structed the  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  called  it  the  "  Jew  of  Venice," 
and  assigned  Shylock  to  Doggett.  Lord  Lansdowne's  "  She-Gal- 
lants" is  a  vile  comedy  for  its  "  morals,"  but  a  vivacious  one  for 
its  manner.  Old  Downes,  the  prompter,  sneers  at  the  offence 
taken  at  it  by  some  ladies,  who,  he  thinks,  affected  rather  than 
possessed,  virtue,  themselves.  But  ladies,  in  1696,  were  offended 
at  such  outrages  on  decency  as  this  play  contains.  They  were  not 
the  first  who  had  made  similar  protest.  Even  in  this  lord's 
tragedy  of  "  Heroic  Love,"  Achilles  and  Briseis  are  only  a  little 
more  decent  than  Ravenscroft's  loose  rakes  and  facile  nymphs. 
The  only  consolation  one  has  in  reading  the  "  Jew  of  Venice" 
(produced  in  1701)  is,  that  there  are  some  passages  the  marrer 
could  not  spoil.  As  for  Shylock,  Rowe  expressed  the  opinion  of 
the  public  when,  in  spite  of  the  success  of  the  comic  edition  of 
the  character,  he  said,  modestly  enough,  "  I  cannot  but  think  the 
character  was  tragically  designed  by  the  author."  Dryden,  Pope, 
and  Johnson,  have  in  their  turn  eulogized  Granville ;  but,  as  a 
dramatic  poet,  he  reflects  no  honor  either  on  the  century  in  which 
he  was  born,  or  on  that  in  which  he  died.  Indeed,  of  the  drama- 
tist peers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  there  is  not  a  play  that  has 
survived  to  our  times. 

And  now,  coming  to  a  dozen  of  baronets,  knights,  and  honorables, 
let  us  point  to  two, — Sir  Samuel  Tuke  and  Sir  William  Killi- 
grew,  who  may  claim  precedence  for  their  comparative  purity,  if 
not  for  decided  dramatic  talent.  To  the  former,  an  old  colonel 
of  the  cavalier  times,  Charles  H.  recommended  a  comedy  of  Cal 
derou's,  which  Sir  Samuel  produced  at  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 


THE   DRAMATIC   POETS.  135 

theatre,  in  1663,  under  the  title  of  the  "Adventures  of  Five 
Hours."  The  public  generally,  and  Pepys  especially,  were  un- 
usually delighted  with  this  well-constructed  comedy.  When  it 
was  played  at  Whitehall,  Mrs.  Pepys  saw  it  from  Lady  Fox's 
"juew;"  and,  making  an  odd  comparison,  the  diarist  thought 
"Othello"  a  "mean  thing"  when  weighed  against  the  "Adven- 
tures ;"  but  his  chief  praise  is,  that  it  is  "  without  one  word  of 
ribaldry  ;"  and  Echard  has  added  thereto  his  special  commendation 
as  a  critic. 

Sir  Robert  Stapylton  says  of  William  Killigrew  what  could  not 
be  said  of  his  brother  Tom  (whose  plays  were  written  before  the 
Restoration),  that  in  him  were  found — 

" plots  well  laid, 

The  language  pure  and  ev'ry  sentence  weighed." 

Sir  William,  a  soldier  of  the  first  Charles's  fighing  time,  a 
courtier,  and  vice-chamberlain  to  the  Queen,  in  "  Rowley's"  days, 
was  the  author  of  four  or  five  ])lays,  one  only  of  which  deserves 
any  notice  here, — namely,  his  comedy  of  "  Pandora."  The  he- 
roine of  this  drama  resolving  to  cloister  herself  up  from  marriage, 
allows  love  to  be  made  to  her  in  jest,  and  of  course  ends  by  be- 
coming a  wife  in  happy  earnest.  The  author  had,  at  first,  made 
a  tragedy  of  "  Pandora."  The  masters  of  the  stage  objected  to  it 
in  that  form ;  and,  it  being  all  the  same  to  the  complacent  Sir 
William,  he  converted  his  tragedy  into  a  comedy ! 

Sir  Robert  Stapylton,  himself  a  Douay  student  converted  to 
Protestantism  ;  a  cavalier,  who  turned  to  a  hanger-on  at  court — 
but  who  was  always  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman, — has  received 
more  censure  than  praise  at  the  hands  of  a  greater  critic  and  poet 
than  himself.  Pepys  took  no  interest  in  Stapylton's  "  Slighted 
Maid,"  even  though  his  own  wife's  maid,  Gosnell,  had  a  part  in 
it ;  and  Dryden  has  remarked  of  it,  with  too  much  severity,  that 
"there  is  nothing  in  the  first  act  that  might  not  be  said  or  done 
in  the  second ;  nor  any  thing  in  the  middle  which  might  not  as 
well  have  been  at  the  beginning  or  the  end."  Stapylton,  like  the 
wits  of  his  time,  generally,  wrote  more  weakly  than  he  spoke.  This 
was  the  case,  too,  with  Tom  Killigrew,  of  whom  Scott  remarks 
truly,  in  a  very  awkward  simile  {Life  of  Dryden),  that  "  the  merit 


136  DORAN'S  ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

of  his  good  things  evapo)-ated  as  soon  as  he  attempted  to  interwcavs 
them  with  comedy." 

But,  who  is  this  jaunty  personage,  so  noisy  at  a  rehearsal  of  one 
of  his  own  indifferent  plays  ?  It  is  "  Ned  Howard,"  one  of  the 
three  sons  of  the  dirty  Earl  of  Berkshire,  the  first  Howard  who 
bore  that  title,  and  whom  Pepys  saw  one  .July  day  of  1666,  serving 
the  King  with  liquor,  "  in  that  dirty  pickle  I  never  saw  man  in, 
in  my  life."     The  daughter  of  this  Earl  was  the  wife  of  Dryden. 

And  what  does  Ned  Howard  say  at  rehearsal !  The  actors  arc 
making  some  objection  to  his  piece  ;  but  he  exclaims,  "  In  fine, — 
it  shall  read,  and  writ.'.,  and  act,  and  print,  and  pit,  box,  and  gallery 
it,  egad,  with  any  play  in  Europe  !"  The  play  fails ;  and  then  you 
may  hear  Ned  in  any  coft'ce-house,  or  wherever  there  is  a  company, 
proclaiming,  by  way  of  excuse,  that  "  Mr.  So  and-so,  the  actor, 
didn't  top  his  part,  sir  !"     It  was  Ned  Howard's  favorite  phrase. 

The  old  Earl  of  Berkshire  gave  three  sons  to  literature,  besides 
a  daughter  to  Dryden ;  namely,  Sir  Robert,  James,  and  this 
Edward.  The  last  named  was  the  least  eftective.  His  characters 
"  talk"  but  they  are  engaged  in  no  plot ;  and  they  exhibit  a  dull 
lack  of  incident.  The  most  of  his  six  or  seven  dramas  were  fail- 
ures ;  but  from  one  of  ther  <,  which  was  the  most  original,  in- 
decent, and  the  most  decidedly  damned,  Mrs.  Inchbald  con- 
descended to  extract  matter  which  she  turned  to  very  good  pur- 
pose in  her  "  Every  one  has  his  Fault."  Edward  Howard  gratified 
the  court-party  in  his  trag  idy  of  "  The  Usurper,"  by  describing, 
nnder  the  character  of  r'amocles  the  Syracusan,  the  once  re- 
doubted Oliver  Cromwell  \  while  Hugo  de  Petra  but  thinly  veiled 
Hugh  Peters ;  and  Cleom^  ;ncs  is  said  to  have  been  the  shadow  of 
Genera]  Monk.  Lacy  sa  d  that  Ned  was  "  more  of  a  fool  than  a 
poet ;"  and  Buckingham  was  of  the  same  opinion. 

James  Howard  came  i  nder  Buckingham's  censure,  too ;  and  an 
aicident  in  the  "  Englis  i  Monsieur,"  which,  if  Pepys's  criticism 
■nay  be  accepted,  was  .  mighty  pretty,  witty,  pleasant,  mirthful 
jomedy,  furnished  the  ,  itirical  toucli  in  the  "  Rehearsal,"  where 
Prince  Volscins  falls  ir  'ove  with  Parthenope,  as  he  is  pulling  on 
ais  boots  to  go  out  of  >wn.  James  Howard  belonged  to  the  fac- 
tion which  affected  to  clieve  that  there  was  no  popular  love  for 
Shakspeare,  to  rendr     vliom  palatable,  he  arranged  "  Romeo  and 


THE   DRAMATIC   POETS.  137 

Juliet"  for  the  stage,  with  a  double  denouement — one  serious,  the 
other  hilarious.  If  your  heart  were  too  sensitive  to  bear  the 
deaths  of  the  loving  pair,  you  had  only  to  go  on  the  succeeding 
afternoon  to  see  them  wedded,  and  set  upon  the  way  of  a  well- 
assured  domestic  felicity ! 

This  species  of  humor  was  not  wanting  in  Sir  Robert  Howard, — 
who  won  his  knighthood  by  valor  displayed  in  saving  Lord  Wil- 
mot's  life,  in  the  hot  affair  at  Croprcdy  Bridge.  Sir  Robert  has 
been  as  much  pommelled  as  patted  by  Dryden.  Buckingham 
dragged  him  in  effigy  across  the  stage,  and  Shadwell  ridiculed  the 
universality  of  his  pretensions  by  a  clever  caricature  of  him,  in  thf 
"  Impertinents,"  as  Sir  Positive  Atall.  For  the  King's  purpose, 
Howard  cajoled  the  parliament  out  of  money;  for  his  own  pur- 
pose, he  cajoled  the  King  out  of  both  money  and  place ;  and 
netted  several  thousands  a  year  by  affixing  his  very  legible  signa- 
ture to  wai-rants,  issued  by  him  as  Auditor  of  the  Exchequer.  The 
humor  which  he  had  in  common  with  his  brother  James,  he  exhib- 
ited by  giving  two  opposite  catastrophes  to  his  "  Vestal  Virgins," 
between  which  the  public  were  free  to  choose.  Sir  Robert  has 
generally  been  looked  upon  as  a  servile  courtier;  but  people  were 
astounded  at  the  courage  displayed  by  him  in  his  "  Great  Favor- 
ite, or  the  Duke  of  Lerma;"  in  which  the  naughtiness  of  the 
King's  ways,  and  still  more  that  of  the  women  about  him,  was 
shown  in  a  light  which  left  no  doubt  as  to  the  application  of  the 
satire.  His  bombastic  periods  have  died  away  in  the  echoes  of 
them  which  Fielding  caught  in  his  "Tom  Thumb;"  but  his  comic 
power  is  strongly  and  adnnrably  manifested  in  his  "  Committee," 
a  transcript  of  Puritan  life,  which — applied  to  quakers,  for  want 
of  better  subjects  for  caricature — may  still  be  witnessed  in  country 
theatres,  in  the  farce  of  "Honest  Thieves."  Like  many  other 
satirists,  Sir  Robert  could  not  detect  his  own  weak  points.  In  his 
"  Blind  Lady,"  he  ridicules  an  old  widow  in  desperate  want  of  a 
seventh  husband ;  and  at  threescore  and  ten  he  himself  married  bux- 
om Mistress  Dives,  one  of  the  Maids  of  Honor  to  Queen  Mary. 

Of  comedies  portraying  national  or  individual  follies,  perhaps 
the  most  successful,  and  the  most  laughable,  was  James  Howard's 
"English  Monsieur,"  in  which  the  hero-Englishman  execrates 
every  thing  that  is  connected  with  his  country.     To  him,  an  Eng- 


138  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

lish  meal  is  poison,  and  an  English  coat,  degradation.  Tbe  English 
Monsieur  once  challenged  a  rash  person  who  had  praised  an  Eng- 
lish dinner,  and,  says  he,  "  I  ran  him  through  his  mistaken  palate, 
which  made  me  think  the  hand  of  justice  guided  my  sword."  Is 
there  a  damp  walk,  along  which  the  Gallo-Englishman  passes — he 
can  distinguish  between  the  impressions  previously  left  there  by 
English  or  French  ladies, — the  footsteps  of  the  latter  being  of 
course  altogether  the  more  fairy-like.  "  I  have  seen  such  bonne 
mine  in  their  footsteps,  that  the  King  of  France's  maitre  de  danse 
could  not  have  found  fault  with  any  one  tread  amongst  them  all. 
In  these  walks,"  he  adds,  "  I  find  the  toes  of  English  ladies  ready 
to  tread  upon  one  another." 

Later  in  the  play,  the  hero  quarrels  with  a  friend  who  had  found 
fault  with  a  "  pair  of  French  tops,"  worn  by  the  former.  These 
boots  made  so  much  noise  when  the  wearer  moved  in  them,  that 
the  friend's  mistress  could  not  hear  a  word  of  the  love  made  to 
her.  The  wearer,  however,  justifies  the  noise  as  a  fashionable 
French  noise  :  "  for,  look  you,  sir,  a  French  noise  is  agreeable  to 
the  ear,  and  therefore  not  unagreeable,  not  prejudicial  to  the  hear- 
ing ;  that  is  to  say,  to  a  person  who  has  seen  the  world."  The 
English  Monsieur,  as  a  matter  of  course,  loves  a  French  lady,  who 
rejects  his  suit ;  but  to  be  repulsed  by  a  French  dame  had  some- 
thing pleasant  in  it ;  "  'twas  a  denial  with  a  French  tone  of  voice, 
so  that  'twas  agreeable."  Ultimately,  the  nymph  bids  him  a  final 
adieu,  and  the  not  too  dejected  lover  exclaims  to  a  fiiend :  " Do 
you  see,  sir,  how  she  leaves  us;  she  walks  away  with  a  French 
step!" 

One  word  may  be  said  here  for  Sir  Ludovick  Carlile,  the  old 
gentleman  of  the  bows  to  Charles  I.  Like  Shirley,  Killigrew,  and 
Davenant,  he  had  written  plays  before  the  time  of  the  Common- 
wealth ;  and  he  survived  to  write  more,  after  the  Restoration.  The 
only  one,  however,  which  he  oftered  to  the  players  was  a  transla- 
tion of  "  Heraclius,"  by  Corneille ;  and  that  was  returned  on  his 
hands.  There  is  another  knight.  Sir  Francis  Fane,  from  whose 
comedy  of  "  Love  in  the  Dark,"  Mrs.  Centlivre,  more  clever  at 
appropriation  than  Mrs.  Inchbald,  has  taken  Intrigo,  the  man  of 
business,  and  turned  him  into  Marplot,  with  considerable  improve- 
ments ;  but  as  Fane  himself  boiTowed  every  incident,  and  did  not 


THE   DRAMATIC   POETS.  139 

trouble  himself  about  his  language,  his  merit  is  only  of  the  small- 
est order.  He  wrote  a  fair  masque,  and  in  his  unrepresented 
"  Sacrifice"  was  little  courtier  enough  to  make  his  Tamerlane  de- 
clare that  "  princes,  for  the  most  part,  keep  the  worst  company." 
He  and  Sir  Robert  Howard,  both  Tories,  could,  when  it  pleased 
them,  tell  the  truth,  like  the  plainest  spoken  Whig. 

More  successful  than  Sir  Francis  was  rollicking  Tom  Porter,  or 
Major  Porter,  according  to  his  military  rank.  Both  were  luck- 
less gentlemen ;  but  Tom  wrote  one  play,  the  "  Villain,"  which 
put  the  town  in  a  flame,  and  raised  Sandford's  fame,  as  an  actor,  to 
its  very  highest.  Tom  was  also  the  author  of  a  rattling  comedy, 
called  the  "  Carnival,"  but  rioting,  and  bad  company  and  hot 
temper  marred  him.  He  and  Sir  Henry  Bcllasys,  dining  at  Sir 
Robert  Carr's,  fell  into  fierce  dispute,  out  of  mutual  error ;  fierce 
words,  then  a  thoughtless  blow  from  Sir  Henry,  then  swords 
crossing,  and  tipsy  people  parting  the  combatants.  They  were 
really  warm  friends ;  but  Tom  had  been  struck,  and  honor  forbade 
that  he  should  be  reconciled  till  blood  had  flown.  So  Dryden's 
boy  was  employed  to  track  Bcllasys,  and  the  major  came  upon 
him  in  Covent  Garden,  where  they  fought,  surrounded  by  a  crowd 
of  admirers.  Tom's  honor  was  satisfied  by  passing  his  sword 
through  the  body  of  his  dearest  friend.  The  knight  felt  the 
wound  was  mortal,  but  he  beckoned  the  less  grievously  wounded 
major  to  him,  kissed  him,  and  remained  standing,  that  Tom  might 
not  be  obstnicted  in  his  flight.  The  friend  and  poet  safe,  the 
knight  fell  back,  and  soon  after  died.  There  was  really  noble  stuff 
in  some  of  these  dissolute  fine  gentlemen  !  But  there  are  no  two 
of  them  who  have  so  faithfully  illustrated  themselves,  and  the 
times  in  which  they  lived,  as  Sir  George  Etherege  and  Sir  Charles 
Sedley  ;  the  former,  a  knight  by  purchase,  in  order  to  please  a  silly 
woman,  who  vowed  she  would  mairy  none  but  a  man  of  title ;  the 
latter,  a  baronet  by  inheritance.  Sir  George,  born  in  1636,  was 
tlie  descendant  of  a  good — Sir  Charles,  born  three  years  later,  a 
member  of  a  better — family,  reckoning  among  its  sons,  scholars 
and  patrons  of  scholars.  Sir  George  left  Cambridge  undistin- 
guished, but  took  his  degree  in  foreign  travel,  came  home  to  find 
the  study  of  the  law  too  base  a  drudgery  for  so  free  a  spirit,  and 
80   took   to   Irving  like  a  "gentleman,"  and    to   illustrating  the 


140  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

devilishness  of  that  career  by  reproducing  it  in  dramas  on  the 
stage. 

Sedley  left  Oxford  as  Ethcrege  left  Cambridge,  ingloriously, 
bearing  no  honors  with  him.  Unlike  Sir  George,  however,  he  was 
a  home-keeping  youth,  whereby  his  wit  seems  not  to  have  suf- 
fered. He  nursed  the  latter  in  the  groves,  or  at  the  paternal 
hearth  at  Aylesford,  in  Kent,  till  the  sun  of  the  restored  monarchy 
enticed  him  to  London.  There  his  wit  recommended  him  to  the 
King,  won  for  him  the  hatred  of  small  minds,  and  elicited  the 
praise  of  noble  spirits,  who  were  witty  themselves,  and  loved  the 
manifestation  of  wit  in  others.  "  I  have  heard,"  says  honest,  bril- 
liant, and  much-abused  Shadwell,  "  I  have  heard  Sedley  speak 
more  wit  at  a  supper  than  all  my  adversaries,  putting  their  heads 
together,  could  write  in  a  year."  This  testimony  was  rendered  by 
a  man  whose  own  reputation  as  a  wit  has  the  stamp  and  the  war- 
rant of  Rochester. 

Two  more  atrocious  libertines  than  these  two  men  were  not  to 
be  found  in  the  apartments  at  Whitehall,  or  in  the  streets,  taverns, 
and  dens  of  London.  Yet  both  were  famed  for  like  external  qual- 
ities. Etherege  was  easy  and  graceful,  Sedley  so  refinedly  seduc- 
tive of  manner  that  Buckingham  called  it  "  witchcraft,"  and  Wil- 
mot  "his  prevailing,  gentle,  art."  /,  humbler  witness,  can  only 
say,  after  studying  their  works  and  their  lives,  that  Etherege  was  a 
more  accomplished  comedy-writer  than  Sedley,  but  that  Sedley 
was  a  greater  beast  than  Etherege. 

These  two  handsome  fellows,  made  in  God's  image,  marred  their 
manly  beauty  by  their  licentiousness,  and  soon  looked  more  like 
two  battered,  wine-soaked  demons,  than  the  sons  of  Christian 
mothers.  Etherege,  however,  fierce  and  vindictive  as  he  could  be 
under  passion,  was  never  so  utterly  brutalized  in  mind  as  Sedley, 
nor  so  cruel  in  his  humors  at  any  time.  If  Sedley  got  up  that 
groundless  quarrel  with  Sheldon,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the 
alleged  cause  of  which  was  some  painted  hussy,  it  was  doubtless 
out  of  the  very  ferocity  of  his  fun,  which  he  thought  Avell  spent 
on  exhibiting  the  prelate  as  sharing  in  the  vices  common  at 
Court. 

Etherege,  perhaps,  had  the  stronger  head  of  the  two  ;  he,  at  all 
events,  kept  it  sufficiently  free  to  be  able  to  represent  his  King  on 


THE    DRAMATIC   POEIS.  HI 

more  than  one  small  diplomatic  mission  abroad.  Sedley,  who  was 
nevertheless  the  longer  liver  of  the  two,  indulged  in  excesses 
w  hich,  from  their  inexpressible  infamy,  betray  a  sort  of  insanity. 
When  he,  with  other  blackguards  of  good  blood,  was  brought  to 
trial  for  public  outrages,  which  disgusted  even  the  hideous  wretches 
that  lurked  about  Covent  Garden,  Chief  Justice  Foster  addressed 
hiip.  from  the  bench  with  a  "  Sirrah !"  and  told  him,  while  the 
reminiscence  of  the  plague  and  the  smoke  of  the  Great  Fire  still 
hung  over  the  court,  that  it  was  such  wretches  as  he  that  brought 
God's  wrath  so  heavily  upon  the  kingdom.  But  neither  the  heavy 
fine  of  2,000  marks,  nor  his  imprisonment,  nor  his  being  bound 
over  to  keep  the  peace  for  three  years,  nor  his  own  conscience, 
nor  the  rebuke  of  wise  men,  could  restrain  this  miscreant.  He 
was  not  yet  free  from  his  bond  when  he,  and  Buckhurst  and  others 
were  carried  off  to  the  watch-house  by  the  night  constables  for 
fighting  in  the  streets,  drunk,  as  was  their  custom,  and  as  naked 
as  their  drawn  swords.  On  this  occasion,  in  1668,  the  King  in- 
terfered in  their  favor,  and  Chief  Justice  Keeling,  servile  betrayer 
of  his  tnist,  let  them  go  scatheless ;  but  he  punished  the  consta- 
bles by  whom  they  had  been  arrested ! 

Etherege  contributed  three  comedies  to  the  stage  : — "  The 
Comical  Revenge,  or  Love  in  a  Tub,"  "She  Would  if  She  Could," 
and  the  "  Man  of  Mode,  or  Sir  Fopling  Flutter."  Sedley  wrote 
the  "  Mulberry  Garden  ;"  a  tragedy,  called  "  Antony  and  Cleopa- 
tra," v/herein  a  single  incident  in  Shakspeare's  play  is  spun  out 
into  five  acts  ;  "  Bellamira,"  in  which  comedy,  partly  founded  on 
the  "  Euuuchus"  of  Terence,  he  exhibited  the  frailty  of  Lady 
Castlemaine,  and  the  audacity  of  Churchill — a  translated  drama 
from  the  French,  called  the  "  Grumbler,"  and  a  tragedy,  entitled 
the  "  Tyrant  King  of  Crete."  Of  all  Sedley's  pieces,  the  best  is 
the  "  Mulberry  Garden,"  for  portions  of  which  the  author  is  in- 
debted to  Moliere's  "  Ecole  des  Maris,"  and  on  which  Pepys's 
criticism  is  not  to  be  gainsayed  : — "  Here  and  there  a  pretty  say- 
ing, and  that  not  very  many  either."  "Bellamira"  is  remem- 
bered only  as  the  play,  during  the  first  representation  of  which 
the  roof  of  the  Theatre  Royal  fell  in,  with  such  just  discrimination 
as  to  injure  no  one  but  the  author.  Sir  Fleetwood  Shepherd 
Raid  that  "the  wit  of  thi^  latter  had  blown  the  roof  from  the  build- 


142  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ing."  "  Not  so,"  rejoined  Sedley,  "  the  heaviness  of  the  play  has 
broke  down  the  house,  and  buried  the  author  in  the  ruins  !" 

Etherege's  comedies  were,  in  their  day,  the  dear  delight  of  the 
majority  of  playgoers.  I  say  the  majority ;  for  though  "  Love  in 
a  Tub"  brought  £1,000  profit  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  Theatre,  in 
a  single  month  of  1664,  and  was  acted  before  enraptured  gallants 
and  appreciating  nymphs,  at  Whitehall,  some  found  it  a  silly  play. 
It  gave  Etherege  a  name  and  a  position  ;  and  when  his  next  com- 
edy appeared,  "  She  Would  if  She  Could,"  a  thousand  anxious 
people,  with  leisure  enough  of  an  afternoon  to  see  plays  (it  was 
only  at  Court  that  they  were  acted  at  night),  were  turned  away  from 
the  doors.  To  me,  this  piece  is  very  distasteful,  and  it  is  not  with- 
out satisfaction  I  read  that  it  was  on  the  first  night  "barbarously 
treated,"  according  to  Dennis,  and  that  Pepys  found  "  nothing  in  the 
world  good  in  it,  and  few  people  pleased  with  it."  The  plot  and 
denouement  he  pronounces  as  "  mighty  insipid  ;  "  yet  he  says  of  the 
piece  as  a  whole,  that  it  was  "  dull,  roguish,  and  witty."  The  actors, 
however,  were  not  perfect  on  the  first  night.  Dennis  praised  the 
truth  of  character,  the  purity,  freedom,  and  grace  of  the  dialogue, 
and  Shadwell  declared  that  it  was  the  best  comedy  since  the  Res- 
toration, to  his  own  time.  All  this  eulogy  is  not  to  be  accepted. 
Etherege's  third  comedy,  the  "  Man  of  Mode,"  has  been  described 
as  "  perhaps  the  most  elegant  comedy,  and  containing  more  of  the 
real  manners  of  high  life,  than  any  one  the  English  stage  was  ever 
adorned  with."  In  the  latter  respect  alone  is  this  description 
true ;  but,  though  the  piece  is  dedicated  to  a  lady,  the  Duchess 
of  York,  it  could  have  afforded  pleasure,  as  the  Spectator  remarks, 
only  to  the  impure.  People,  no  doubt,  were  delighted  to  recog- 
nize Rochester  in  Dorimant,  Etherege  himself  in  Bellair,  and  the 
stupendous  ass.  Beau  Hewitt,  in  Sir  Fopling ;  but  it  must  have 
been  a  weary  delight ;  so  debased  is  the  nature  of  these  people, 
however  truly  they  represent,  as  they  unquestionably  did,  the 
manners,  bearing,  and  language  of  the  higher  classes. 

How  they  dressed,  talked,  and  thought ;  what  they  did,  and 
how  they  did  it ;  what  they  hoped  for,  and  how  they  pursued  it ; 
all  this,  and  many  other  exemplifications  of  life  as  it  was  then 
understood,  may  be  found  especially  in  the  plays  of  Etherege,  in 
which  there  is  a  bustle  and  a  succession  of  incidents,  from  the 


THE    DRAMATIC   POETS.  143 

rise  to  the  fall  of  the  curtaiu.  But  the  fine  gentlemen  are  such 
dnmitigatcd  rascals,  and  the  women — girls  and  matrons,  are  such 
unlovely  hussies,  in  rascality  and  unseemliness  quite  a  match  for 
tlie  men,  that  one  escapes  from  their  wretched  society,  and  a 
kr.owledge  of  their  one  object,  and  the  confidences  of  the  abom- 
inable creatures  engaged  therein,  with  a  feeling  of  a  strong  want 
of  purification,  and  of  that  ounce  of  civet  which  sweetens  the  im- 
agination. 

Of  the  remaining  amateur  writers  there  is  not  much  to  be  said. 
Rhodes  was  a  gentleman's  son  without  an  estate,  a  doctor  without 
practice,  and  a  dramatist  without  perseverance.  His  one  comedy, 
"Flora's  Vagaries"  (1667),  gave  a  capital  part  to  Nelly,  and  a 
reputation  to  the  doctor,  which  he  failed  to  sustain.  Corye  was 
another  idle  gentleman,  who,  in  the  same  year,  produced  his 
"  Generous  Enemies,"  and  that  piece  was  a  plagiarism.  Ned  Rev- 
et also  exhausted  himself  in  one  comedy,  "The  Town  Shifts," 
which  the  town  found  insipid.  Arrowsmith  was  in  like  plight,  and 
his  sole  comedy,  "  The  Reformation,"  was  obliged  to  give  way  to 
Shakspeare's  "  Macbeth,"  converted  into  an  opera.  Nevil  Payne 
was  the  author  of  three  pieces  ;  "  Fatal  Jealousy,"  in  which  Nokes 
earned  his  name  of  Nurse  Nokes  ;  the  "  Morning  Ramble,"  which 
was  less  attractive  in  1673,  than  the  "Tempest,"  even  in  an  oper- 
atic form,  or  "  Hamlet,"  with  Betterton  for  the  hero ;  and  the 
"  Siege  of  Constantinople,"  a  tragedy  in  which  Shaftesbury  and 
his  vices  were  mercilessly  satirized.  Tom  Rawlins  wrote  three 
poor  plays,  the  last  in  1678,  and  he  had  as  great  a  contempt  for 
the  character  of  author  as  Congreve  himself  He  was,  like  Joe 
Harris,  "  engraver  of  the  Mint,"  kept  fellowship  with  wits  and 
poets,  wrote  for  amusement,  and  "  had  no  desire  to  be  known  by 
a  thread-'h^xe  coat,  having  a  calling  that  will  maintain  it  woolly .'" 
Then  there  was  Leanard,  who  stole  not  more  audaciously  than  he 
was  stolen  from,  when  he  chose  to  be  original — Colley  Gibber 
having  taken  many  a  point  from  the  "  Counterfeits,"  to  enrich 
"She  Would  and  She  Would  Not."  Pordage  was  about  as  dull 
a  writer  as  might  be  expected  of  a  man  who  was  landsteward  to 
"the  memorable  simpleton,"  Philip, Earl  of  Pembroke.  Shipman 
enjoys  the  fame  of  having  been  highly  esteemed  by  Cowley — he 
certainly  was  not  by  the  public ;  and  Bancroft,  the  surgeon,  had 


144  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  reputation  of  having  been  induced  to  write,  as  he  did,  unsiio- 
cessfully,  for  the  stage,  because  he  prescribed  for,  or  rather  against, 
the  most  fashionable  malady  of  the  day,  when  it  attacked  theatre- 
haunting  fops  and  actors  who  stooped  to  imitate  the  gentlemen. 
From  these  he  caught  the  stage  fever,  and  sufiered  considerably. 
Whitaker's  one  play,  "  The  Conspiracy,"  is  remarkable  for  the 
sensation  incident  of  a  ghost  appearing,  leading  Death  by  the 
hand  !  Maidwell's  comedy  of  "  The  Loving  Enemies"  (the  author 
was  an  old  schoolmaster),  was  noticeable  for  being  "  designedly 
dull,  lest  by  satirizing  folly  the  author  might  bring  upon  his  skull 
the  bludgeon  of  fools."  Saunders,  and  his  "  Tamerlane  the  Great," 
are  now  forgotten  ;  but  Dryden  spoke  of  the  author,  in  an  indecent 
epilogue,  as  "tlie  first  boy-poet  of  our  age;"  who,  however, 
though  he  blossomed  as  early  as  Cowley,  did  not  flourish  as  long. 

Wilson  was  another  professional  writer,  but  less  successful  on 
the  stage  than  in  his.recordership  of  Londonderry.  Another  law- 
yer, Higden,  was  one  of  the  jolliest  of  fellows ;  and  wishing  the 
actors  to  be  so,  too,  he  introduced  so  many  drinking  scenes  into 
his  sole  play,  "  The  Wary  Widow,"  that  the  players,  who  tippled 
their  real  punch  freely,  were  all  drunk  by  the  end  of  the  third 
act ;  and  the  piece  was  then,  there,  and  thereby,  brought  to  an 
end! 

In  the  last  years  of  the  seventeenth  century,  a  humble  votary  of 
the  muses  appeared  in  DufFet,  the  Exchange  milliner ;  and  in  Robert 
Gould,  a  servant  in  the  household  of  Dorset,  where  he  caught  from 
the  wits  and  gay  fellows  assembled  at  Knowle  or  at  Buckhurst,  a 
desire  to  write  a  drama.  He  was,  however,  a  schoolmaster,  when 
his  play  of  the  "  Rival  Sisters," — in  which,  other  means  of  slaugh- 
ter being  exhausted,  a  thunderbolt  is  employed  for  the  killing  a 
lady,  was  but  coldly  received.  Gould  was  not  a  plagiarist,  like 
Scott,  the  Duke  of  Roxburgh's  secretary,  nor  so  licentious.  The 
public  was  scandalized  by  incidents  in  Scott's  "  Unhappy  Kiiid- 
Qcss,"  in  1697.  Dr.  Drake  was  another  plagiarist,  who  revenged 
himself  in  the  last-named  year,  for  the  condemnation  of  his  "Sham 
Lawyers,"  by  stating  on  the  title-page  that  it  had  been  "  damnably 
acted."  That  year  was  fatal,  too,  to  Dr.  Fihner,  tlie  champion  of 
the  stage  against  Collier.  Even  Bettcrton  and  Mrs.  Bariy  failed 
to  give  life  to  the  old  gentleman's  "  Unnatural  Brother ;"  and  the 


THE    DRAMATIC    POETS.  145 

doctor  ascribed  his  want  of  success  to  the  fact,  that  never  at  any 
one  time  had  he  placed  more  than  three  characters  on  the  stage  ! 
The  most  prohfic  of  what  may  be  termed  the  amateur  writers,  was 
Peter  Motteux,  a  French  Huguenot,  whom  the  revocation  of  tlie 
edict  of  Nantes  brought,  in  1660,  to  England,  where  he  carried  on 
the  vocations  of  a  trader  in  Leadenhall  Street,  clerk  in  the  foreign 
depaitment  of  the  Post  Office,  translator,  original  writer,  drama- 
tist, and  "  fast  man,"  till  the  too  zealous  pursuit  of  the  latter  calling 
found  Peter  dead,  in  veiy  bad  company  in  St.  Clements  Danes,  in 
the  year  1718.  Of  his  seventeen  comedies,  farces,  and  musical 
interludes,  there  is  nothing  to  be  said,  save  that  one  called  "  Nov- 
elty" presents  a  distinct  play  in  each  act, — or  five  difterent  pieces 
in  all.  By  dilferent  men,  Peter  has  been  diversely  rated.  Dry- 
den  said  of  him,  in  reference  to  his  one  tragedy,  "Beauty  in 
Distress :" 

"  Thy  incidents,  perhaps,  too  thick  are  sown ; 
But  too  much  plenty  is  thy  fault  alone : 
At  least  but  two  in  that  good  crime  commit ; — 
Thou  in  design,  and  Wycherley  in  wit." 

But  an  anonymous  poet  writes,  in  reference  to  one  of  his  various 
poor  adaptations,  "  The  Island  Princess  :" 

"  Motteux  and  Durfey  are  for  nothing  fit. 
But  to  supply  with  songs  their  want  of  wit." 

How  Motteux  found  time  for  all  his  pursuits  is  not  to  be  ex- 
plained ;  but,  much  as  he  accomplished  in  all,  he  designed  still 
more — one  of  his  projects  being  an  opera,  to  be  called  "  The  Loves 
of  Europe,"  in  which  were  to  be  represented  the  methods  em- 
ployed in  various  nations,  whereby  ladies'  hearts  are  triumphantly 
won.  It  was  an  odd  idea;  but  Peter  Motteux  was  odd  in  every 
thing.  And  it  is  even  oddly  said  of  him,  "  that  lie  met  with  his 
fate  in  trying  a  very  odd  experiment,  highly  disgraceful  to  his 
memory  !" 

Hard-drinking,  and  what  was  euphoniously  called  c/allantry, 
killed  good-tempered  Charles  Hopkins,  son  of  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
donderry. Had  he  had  more  discretion  and  less  wit,  he  might 
have  prospered.  His  tragedies,  "  Pyrrhus,"  "  Boadicea,"  and 
"Friendship Improved,"  bear  traces  of  what  he  might  have  done. 
Vol.  1.-1 


14:6  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

He  has  the  merit,  however,  of  not  being  indecent, — a  fact  which 
the  epilogue  to  "  Boadicea,"  furnished  by  a  friend  and  spoken  by 
a  lady,  rather  deplores,  and  in  indecent  language,  regrets  that 
uncleanness  of  jest  is  no  longer  acceptable  to  the  town  ! 

Walker  merits  notice,  less  for  his  two  pieces,  "  Victorious  Love," 
and  "  Marry  or  do  worse,"  than  for  tlie  fact  that  this  young  Bar- 
badian was  the  first  actor  whom  Eton  school  gave  to  the  stage. 
He  appeared,  when  only  eighteen,  in  the  first-named  piece,  but 
quickly  passed  away  to  the  study  of  the  law  and  the  exercise  of 
the  latter  as  a  profession,  in  his  native  island.  I  know  nothing 
worthy  of  record  of  the  few  other  gentlemen  who  wrote  plays, 
rather  as  a  relaxation  than  a  vocation,  save  that,  Boyer,  a  refugee 
Huguenot,  like  Motteux,  and  a  learned  man,  adapted  Racine's 
"  Iphigenia  in  Aulis,"  for  representation ;  that  Oldmixon  was  an 
old,  unscrupulous  party-writer ;  and  that  Crauford  was  historio- 
grapher for  Scotland  to  Queen  Anne,  and  has  left  no  name  of  note 
among  dramatic  writers. 


PROFESSIONAL   AUTHORS  14^ 


CHAPTER  X 


PROFESSIONAL    AUTHORS. 


The  men  who  took  up  dramatic  autliorship  seriously  as  a  voca- 
tion, during  the  last  half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  amount  to 
something  more  than  two  dozen.  They  begin  with  Davenant  and 
Dryden ;  include  Tate  and  Brady,  Lee  and  Otway,  Wycherley, 
Congreve,  Gibber,  and  Vaiibrugh ;  and  conclude  with  Farquhar, 
and  with  Rowe. 

I  include  Sir  John  Vanbrugh  because  he  preferred  fame  as  an 
author  to  fame  as  an  architect,  and  I  insert  Congreve,  despite  the 
reflection  that  the  ghost  of  that  writer  would  daintily  protest 
against  it  if  he  could.  When  Voltaire  called  upon  him,  in  Lon- 
don, the  Frenchman  intimated  that  his  visit  was  to  the  "  author." 
"  I  am  a  gentleman,^''  said  Congreve.  "  Nay,"  rejoined  the  former^ 
"  had  you  been  only  a  gentleman,  you  would  never  have  received 
a  visit  from  me  at  all," 

Let  me  here  repeat  the  names : — Davenant,  Dryden,  Shirley, 
Lee,  Cowley,  Shadwell,  Flecknoe,  Settle,  Crowne,  Ravenscroft, 
Wycherley,  Otway,  Durfey,  Banks,  Rymer,  Tate,  Brady,  Southerne, 
Congreve,  Gibber,  Dilke,  Vanbrugh,  Gildon,  Farquhar,  Dennis,  and 
Hotoe.     The  half  dozen  in  italics  were  poets-laureate. 

All  of  them  were  sons  of  "  gentlemen,"  save  three,  Davenant, 
Cowley,  and  Dennis,  whose  sires  were,  respectively,  a  vintner,  a 
hatter,  and  a  saddler.  The  sons,  however,  received  a  collegiate 
education.  Cowley  distinguished  himself  at  Cambridge,  but  Dav- 
enq,nt  left  Oxford  without  a  degree,  and  from  the  former  Univer- 
sity Dennis  was  expelled,  in  March,  1680,  "for  assaulting  and 
wounding  Sir  Glenham  with  a  sword." 

Besides  Cowley  and  Dennis,  we  are  indebted  to  Cambridge  for 
Dryden,  Lee,  and  Rymer.  From  Oxford  University  came  Dave- 
nant, and  Settle,  degreeless  as  Davenant,  with  Shirley,  whose  mole 
on  his  cheek  had  rendered  him  ineligible  in  Laud's  eyes,  for  ordi- 


14:8  poran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

nation ;  Wyclierle}',  Otway,  Soiitherne,  and  Dilke.  Dublin  Uni- 
versity yields  Tate  and  Brady ;  and  better  fiiiit  still,  Southeriie, 
Congrevc,  who  went  to  Ireland  at  an  early  age,  and  Farquhar. 
Douay  gave  us  Gildon,  and  we  are  not  proud  of  the  gift. 

Lee,  Otway,  and  Tate  were  sons  of  clergymen.  Little  Crowiie's 
father  was  an  Lidependent  minister  in  Nova  Scotia,  and  Crowne 
himself  laid  claim,  fruitlessly,  to  a  vast  portion  of  the  territory 
tliere — unjustly  made  over  by  the  English  Government  to  the 
French.  Gibber  was  an  artist,  on  the  side  of  his  father  the  statu- 
ary, and  a  "gentleman"  by  his  mother. 

It  may  be  said  of  a  good  number  of  these  gentlemen  that  idle- 
ness and  love  of  pleasure  made  them  dramatic  poets.  Shadwell, 
Ravenscroft,  Wycherley,  Durfey,  Banks,  Southerne,  Congreve,  and 
Rowe,  were  all  apprenticed  to  the  law ;  but  the  study  was  one  too 
dull  for  men  of  their  vivacious  temperament,  and  they  all  turned 
from  it  in  disgust.  According  to  their  success,  so  were  they 
praised  or  blamed. 

The  least  successful  dramatists  on  the  above  list  were  the  most 
presumptuous  of  critics.  Rymer,  who  was  wise  enough  to  stick  to 
the  law  while  he  endeavored  to  turn  at  least  Melpomene  to  good 
account,  ti'ied  to  persuade  the  public  that  Shakspeare  was  even  of 
less  merit  than  it  was  the  fashion  to  assign  to  liim.  In  1678,  Ry- 
mer boldly  asserted  that  "  in  the  neighing  of  a  horse  as  the  growl- 
ing-of  a  mastiff,  there  is  a  meaning;  there  is  as  lively  expression, 
and,  may  I  say,  more  humanity  than  many  times  in  the  tragical 
flights  of  Shakspeare."  He  says,  that  "  no  woman  bred  out  of  a 
pigstye  could  talk  so  meanly  as  Desdemona,"  in  that  tragedy 
which  Rymer  calls  "  a  bloody  farce  without  salt  or  savor."  Of 
Br::tus  and  Caesar,  he  says  Shakspeare  has  depicted  them  as  "Jack 
Puddins."  To  show  how  much  better  he  understood  the  art, 
Rymer  published,  in  1678,  the  ti-agedy  he  could  not  get  represent- 
ed, "  Edgar,  or  the  English  Monarch."  lie  professes  to  imitate 
the  ancients,  and  ])is  tragedy  is  in  rhyme ;  he  accuses  Shakspeare 
of  anachronisms,  and  his  Saxon  princess  is  directed  to  "pull  off 
her  patches !"  The  autlior  was  ambitious  enough  to  attempt  to 
supersede  Shakspeare,  and  he  pooh-poohed  John  Milton  by  speak- 
ing of  Paradise  Lost  as  "  a  thing  which  some  people  were  pleased 
to  call      K)em." 


PROFESSIONAL  AUTHORS.  149 

Dennis  was  not  quite  so  audacious  as  this.  He  was  a  better 
critic  than  the  author  of  the  Fcedera,  and  a  more  voluminous 
writer,  or  rather  adapter,  of  dramatic  pieces.  He  spoke,  however, 
of  Tasso,  as  compassionately  as  the  village  painter  did  of  Titian ; 
but  his  usefulness  was  acknowledged  by  the  commentator,  wlio 
remarked  that  men  might  construct  good  plays  by  following  his 
precepts,  and  avoiding  his  examples.  Boyer  has  said  something 
similar  of  Gildon,  who  was  a  critic  as  well  as  dramatist — namely, 
"he  wrote  an  English  Art  of  Poetry,  which  he  had  practised  him- 
self very  unsuccessfully  in  his  dramatic  performances." 

Cowley,  although  he  is  now  little  remembered  as  a  dramatic 
writer,  was  among  the  first  who  seized  the  earliest  opportunity 
after  the  Restoration  to  set  up  as  playwrights ;  but  Cowley  failed, 
and  was  certainly  mortified  at  his  failure.  He  re-trimmed  a  play 
of  his  early  days,  the  "  Guardian,"  and  called  it  the  "  Cutter  of 
Coleman  Street."  All  there  is  broad  farce,  in  which  the  Puritan 
"  congregation  of  the  spotless"  is  coarsely  ridiculed,  and  cavalier- 
ism  held  up  to  admiration.  The  audience  condemned  the  former 
as  "profane,"  and  Cowley's  cavaliers  were  found  to  be  such 
scamps  that  he  was  suspected  of  disloyalty.  Gentle  as  he  was  by 
nature,  Cowley  was  irritable  under  criticism.  "  I  think  there  was 
something  of  faction  against  it,"  he  says,  "by  the  early  appear- 
ance of  some  men's  disapprobation  before  they  had  seen  enough 
of  it  to  build  their  dislike  upon  their  judgment."  "  Profane  !"  ex- 
claims Abraham,  with  a  shudder,  and  declares  it  is  enough  to 
"knock  a  man  down,"  Is  it  profane,  he  asks,  "to  deride  the 
hypocrisy  of  those  men  whose  skulls  are  not  yet  bare  upon  the 
gates  since  the  public  and  just  punishment  of  it  ?"  namely,  pro- 
fanity. Thus  were  the  skulls  of  the  Conmionwealth  leaders  tossed 
up  in  comedy.  He  adds,  in  a  half  saucy,  half  deprecatory  sort  of 
way  that  "  there  is  no  writer  but  may  fail  sometimes  in  point  of 
wit,  and  it  is  no  less  frequent  for  the  auditors  to  fail  in  point  of 
judgment."  Nevertheless,  he  had  humbly  asked  favor  at  the  hands 
of  the  critics  when  his  piece  was  first  played,  in  these  words : — 

"  Gentlemen  critics  of  Argier, 
For  your  own  int'rest,  I'd  advise  ye  here 
To  let  this  little  forlorn  hope  go  by 
Safe  and  untouch' d.     '  That  must  not  be  I'  you'll  cry. 


150  DORAN's   ANNA.LS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

If  yc  be  wise,  it  must ;  T'U  tell  3'e  why. 
There  are  7,  8.  9, — stay,  there  are  behind 
Ten  plays  at  least,  which  wait  but  for  a  wind 
And  the  glad  news  that  we  the  enemy  miss ; 
And  those  are  all  your  own,  if  you  spare  this. 
Some  are  but  new-trimm'd  up,  others  quite  new, 
Some  by  known  sliipwrights  built,  and  others  too 
By  that  great  author  made,  whoe'er  he  be, 
That  styles  himself  '  Person  of  Quality.' " 

The  "Cutter"  rallied  a  little,  and  then  was  laid  aside;  but 
some  of  its  spars  were  carried  oft'  by  later  gentlemen,  who  have 
piqued  themselves  on  their  originality.  Colonel  Jolly's  advice  to 
the  bully,  Cutter,  if  he  would  not  be  known,  to  "take  one  more 
disguise  at  last,  and  put  thyself  in  the  habit  of  a  gentleman,"  has 
been  quoted  as  the  wit  of  Sheridan,  who  took  his  Sir  Anthony 
Absolute  from  Truman,  senior.  And  when  Cowley  made  Aurelia 
answer  to  the  inquiry,  if  she  had  looked  in  Lucia's  eye,  that  she 
had,  and  that  "  there  were  pretty  babies  in  it,"  he  little  thought 
that  there  would  rise  a  Tom  Moore  to  give  a  turn  to  the  pretty  idea 
and  spoil  it,  as  he  has  done,  in  the  "  Impromptu,"  in  Little's  Poems. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  circumstances  in  Cowley's  charac- 
ter, considering  how  he  distinguished  himself  at  college,  is,  that 
he  never  thoroughly  understood  the  rules  of  grammar !  and  that 
in  seriously  setting  up  for  a  dramatic  author,  he  took,  like  Dry- 
den,  the  course  in  which  he  acquired  the  least  honor.  When 
Charles  II.,  on  hearing  of  Cowley's  death,  declared  that  he  had 
not  left  a  better  man  behind  him  in  England,  the  King  was,  as- 
suredly, not  thinking  of  the  poet  as  a  dramatist. 

Several  of  Cowley's  contemporaries  who  were  considered  better 
men  by  some  judges,  were  guilty  of  oft'ence  from  which  he  was 
entirely  free.  That  oft'ence  consisted  in  their  various  attempts  to 
improve  Shakspeare,  by  lowering  him  to  what  they  conceived  to 
be  the  taste  of  the  times.  Davenant  took  "  Measure  for  Measure," 
and  "  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,"  and  manipulated  them  into  one 
absurd  comedy,  the  "  Law  against  Lovers."  He  subsequently 
improved  "Macbeth"  and  "Julius  Caesar;"  and  Dryden,  who  with 
at  least  some  show  of  reason,  re-arranged  "  Troilus  and  Cressida," 
united  with  Davenant  in  a  sacrilegious  destruction  of  all  that  is 
beautiful  in  the  "  Tempest."    Nat.  Lee,  who  was  accounted  mad, 


PROFESSIONAL  AUTHORS.  151 

had  at  least  sense  enough  to  refrain  from  marring  Shakspeare. 
Shadwell  corrected  the  great  poet's  view  of  "  Timon  of  Athens," 
which,  as  he  not  too  modestly  observed,  he  "  made  into  a  play ;" 
hut,  with  more  modesty  in  the  epilogue,  he  asked  for  forgiveness 
for  his  own  part,  for  the  sake  of  the  portion  that  was  Shakspeare's. 
Crowne,  more  impudently,  re-modelled  two  parts  of  "  Henry 
VI.,'*  with  some  affectation  of  reverence  for  the  original  author, 
and  a  bold  assertion  of  his  own  original  merits  with  regard  to 
Jiome  portions  of  the  play.  Crowne's  orignality  is  shown,  in  mak- 
ing Clifford  swear  like  a  drunken  tapster,  and  in  affirming  that  a 
king  is  a  king — sacred,  and  not  to  be  even  thought  ill  of,  let  him 
be  never  so  hateful  a  miscreant.  Ravenscroft,  in  his  "  Titus  An- 
dronicus,"  only  piled  the  agony  a  little  more  solidly  and  comically, 
and  can  be  hardly  said  to  have  thereby  molested  Shakspeare.  There 
was  less  excuse  for  Otway,  who,  not  caring  to  do  as  he  pleased  with 
a  doubtful  play,  ruthlessly  seized  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  stripped  the 
lovers  of  their  romance,  clapped  them  into  a  classical  costume,  and 
converted  the  noble  but  obstinate  houses  of  Capulet  and  Montague 
into  riotous  followers  of  Marius  and  Sylla — Cains  Marius  the 
younger  wishing  he  were  a  glove  upon  the  hand  of  Lavinia  Metella, 
and  a  sententious  Sulpitius  striving  in  vain  to  be  as  light  and 
sparkling  as  Mercutio.  Tate's  double  rebuke  to  Shakspeare,  in 
altering  his  "  King  Lear,"  and  "  Coriolanus,"  was  a  small  offence 
compared  with  Otway's  assault.  He  undertook,  as  he  says,  to 
"  rectify  what  was  wanting ;"  and  accordingly,  he  abolishes  the 
faithful  fool,  makes  a  pair  of  silly  lovers  of  Edgar  and  Cordelia, 
and  converts  the  solemn  climax  into  comedy,  by  presenting  the 
old  king  and  his  matchless  daughter,  hand  in  hand,  alive  and 
merry,  as  the  curtain  descends.  Tate  smirkingly  maintained  that 
he  wrought  into  perfection  the  rough  and  costly  material  left  by 
81  akspeare.  "  In  my  humble  opinion,"  said  Addison,  "  it  has  lost 
balf  its  beauty ;"  and  yet  Tate's  version  kept  its  place  for  many 
years ! — though  not  so  long  as  Cibber's  version  of  "  Richard 
III.,"  which  was  constructed  out  of  Shakspeare,  with  more  re- 
gard for  the  actor  than  respect  for  the  author. 

In  the  last  year  of  the  century,  the  last  attempt  to  improve  that 
inefficient  poet  was  made  by  Gildon,  who  produced  at  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields  his  idea  of  what  "  Measure  for  Measure"  should  be,  by 


152  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

omitting  all  the  comic  characters,  introducing  music  and  dancing, 
transposing  incidents,  adding  much  nonsense  of  his  own  to  that 
of  Davenant,  and  sprinkling  all  with  an  assortment  of  blunders, 
amusing  enough  to  make  some  compensation  for  the  absence  of 
the  comic  characters  in  the  original  play. 

It  seemed  to  be  the  idea  of  these  men,  that  it  were  wise  to  re- 
duce Shakspeare  to  the  capacities  of  those  who  could  appreciate 
him.  There  ivere  unhappy  persons  thus  afflicted.  Even  Mr. 
Pepys  speaks  of  "  Henry  VIII."  as  "  a  simple  thing,  made  up  of 
a  great  many  patches."  The  "  Tempest,"  he  thinks,  "  has  no 
great  wit — but  yet  good,  above  ordinary  plays."  "  Othello"  was 
to  him  "  a  mean  thing,"  compared  with  the  last  new  comedy  by 
another  author.  "  Twelfth  Night,"  "  one  of  the  weakest  plays  1 
ever  saw  on  the  stage."  "  Macbeth,"  he  liked  or  disliked,  accord- 
ing to  the  humor  of  the  hour ;  but  there  was  a  "  divertissement" 
in  it,  which  struck  him  as  being  a  droll  thing  in  tragedy,  but  in 
this  case  proper  and  natural !  Finally,  he  records,  in  1662,  of 
the  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  which  he  "  had  never  seen 
before,  nor  ever  shall  again,"  that  "  it  is  the  most  insipid,  ridicu- 
lous play  that  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

Of  the  characteristics  of  the  chief  of  these  dramatists,  it  may  be 
said,  first  of  Davenant,  that,  if  he  was  quick  of  fancy  and  carefiil  in 
composition,  the  result  is  not  answerable  to  the  labor  expended  on 
it.  One  of  the  pleasantest  features  about  Dryden  was,  that  as  he 
grew  old,  he  increased  in  power;  but  his  heart  was  untouched  by 
his  own  magic,  and  he  was  but  a  cold  reader  of  the  best  of  his 
own  works.  Lee,  as  tender  and  impassioned  as  he  is  often  absurd 
and  bombastic,  was  an  exquisite  reader  of  what  he  wrote,  his 
heart  acknowledging  the  charm.  Shadwell's  characters  have  the 
merit  of  being  well  conceived,  and  strongly  marked ;  and  Shirley 
(a  poet  belonging  to  an  earlier  period)  has  only  a  little  above  the 
measure  of  honor  due  to  him,  when  he  is  placed  on  a  level  with 
Fletcher.  Crowne  is  more  justly  placed  in  the  third  rank  of 
dramatists ;  but  he  had  originality,  lacking  the  power  to  give  it 
effect.  Ravenscroft  had  neither  invention  nor  expression ;  yet  he 
was  a  most  prolific  writer,  a  caricaturist,  but  without  truth  or  re- 
finement; altogether  unclean.  Wycherley,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  admirable  for  the  epigrammatic  turn  of  his  stage  conversa- 


PROFESSIONAL   AUTH0}{3.  153 

tions,  the  aptness  of  his  ilhistratioiis,  the  acutencss  of  his  observa- 
tion, the  richness  of  his  character-painting,  and  tlie  smartness  of 
his  satire ;  in  the  indnlg-ence  or  practice  of  all  whicli,  however,  the 
action  of  the  drama  is  often  impeded,  that  the  audience  may  enjoy 
H  shower  of  sky-rockets. 

Pope  said  that  Wycherley  was  inspired  by  the  Muses,  with  the 
wit  of  Plautns.  He  had,  indeed,  "Plautus'  wit,"  and  an  obscenity 
rivalling  that  of  the  "  Curculio ;"  but  he  had  none  of  the  pathos 
which  is  to  be  found  in  the  "  Rudens."  But  Wycherley  was  also 
described  as  having  the  "  art  of  Terence  and  Menander's  fire."  If  by 
the  first.  Pope  meant  skill  in  invention  of  plot,  Wycherley  surpassed 
the  Carthaginian ;  and  as  to  "  Menander's  fire,"  in  Wycherley  it 
was  no  purifying  fire ;  and  Wesley  was  not  likely  to  illustrate  a 
sermon  by  a  quotation  from  Wycherley,  as  St.  Paul  did  by  citing 
a  line  from  Menander. 

We  are  charmed  by  the  humor  of  Wycherley ;  but  after  that, 
posterity  disagrees  with  Pope's  verdict.  We  are  not  instructed 
by  the  sense  of  Wycherley,  nor  swayed  by  his  judgment,  nor 
warmed  honestly  by  his  spirit;  his  unblushing  profligacy  ruins 
all.     But  if  his  men  and  women  are  as  coarse  as  Ethereffc's  or 

o 

Sedley's,  they  are  infinitely  more  clever  people ;  so  clever,  indeed, 
that  Sheridan  has  not  been  too  proud  to  borrow  "  good  things" 
from  some  of  them.  Wycherley  is  perhaps  more  natural  and  con- 
sistent than  Congreve,  whose  Jeremy  speaks  like  an  oracle,  and 
is  as  learned,  tliough  not  so  nasty  as  his  master.  It  may  be,  that 
for  a  man  to  enjoy  Congreve's  wit,  he  should  be  as  witty  as  Con- 
grove.  To  me,  it  seems  to  shine  at  best  but  as  a  brilliant  on  a 
dirty  finger.  As  for  his  boasted  originality,  Valentine  and  Trap- 
bois  are  Don  Juan  and  M.  Dimanche ;  and  as  for  Valentine,  as 
the  type  of  a  gentleman,  his  similes  smack  more  of  the  stable-yard 
than  the  drawing-room  ;  and  there  is  more  of  impertinent  prattle 
generally  among  his  characters  than  among  those  of  Wycherley. 
His  ladies  are  a  shade  more  elegant  than  those  of  the  latter  poet; 
but  they  are  mere  courtezans,  brilliant,  through  being  docked  with 
diamonds;  but  not  a  jot  the  more  virtuous  or  attractive  on  that 
account.  Among  the  comedy-writers  of  this  half  century,  how- 
ever, Congi'eve  and  Wycherley  stand  supreme ;  they  were  artists ; 
too  many  of  their  rivals  or  successors  were  but  coarsf  daubers. 


x54  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

In  coarseness  of  sentiment  the  latter  could  not  go  beyond  their 
prototypes ;  and  in  the  expression  of  it,  they  had  neither  the  wit 
of  tljcir  greatest,  nor  the  smartness  of  their  less  famous  masters. 
This  coarseness  dates,  however,  from  earlier  days  than  those  of 
the  Restoration ;  and  Dryden,  who  remembered  the  immorality 
of  Webster's  comedies,  seems  to  have  thought  that  the  Restora- 
tion was  to  give  the  old  grossness  to  the  stage,  as  well  as  a  new 
king  to  the  country.  It  is,  nevertheless,  certain  that  a  large  por- 
tion of  the  public  protested  against  this  return  to  an  evil  practice, 
and  hissed  his  first  piece,  "  The  Wild  Gallant,"  played  in  the  little 
theatre  in  Vere  Street,  Drury  Lane,  in  16G2.  "  It  was  not  indecent 
enough  for  them,"  said  the  poet,  who  promised  "  not  to  offend  in 
the  way  of  modesty  again."  His  "  Kind  Keeper,  or  Mr.  Limber- 
ham,"  under  which  name  the  Duke  of  Lauderdale  is  said  to  have 
been  satirized,  and  which  Dryden  held  to  be  his  best  comedy,  Avas 
utterly  condemned.  "  Ah  !"  said  he,  "  it  was  damned  by  a  cabal  of 
keepers !"  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  public  might  pre- 
fer wit  to  immorality.  Long  before,  he  had  written  an  unseemly 
piece,  called  "  The  Rival  Ladies,"  he  seasoned  it  in  what  he  main- 
tained was  the  taste  of  the  town,  and  in  a  prologue — prologues 
then  were  often  savagely  defiant  of  the  opinions  of  the  audience, 
asserted  his  own  judgment  by  saying: 

"  He's  bound  to  please,  not  to  write  well,  and  knows 
There  is  a  mode  in  playa  as  well  as  clothes." 

I  do  not  know  how  true  it  may  be  that  Dryden,  the  coarsest  of 
dramatic  writers,  was  "  the  modestest  of  men  in  conversation ;" 
but  I  have  small  trust  in  the  alleged  purity  of  a  writer  who  stooped 
to  gratify  the  baser  feelings  of  an  audience,  according  to  their 
various  degrees ;  who  could  compose  for  one  class  the  filthy  dish 
served  up  in  his  "  Wild  Gallant,"  and  for  another  the  more  dan- 
gerous, if  more  refined,  fare  for  youthful  palates,  so  carefully  man- 
ipulated in  the  Alexis  and  Cajlia  song,  in  his  "  Mariage  a  la 
Mode." 

We  must  not  forget,  indeed,  that  the  standard  of  morals  was 
different  at  that  time  from  what  it  is  now.  Later  in  the  half  cen- 
tury, Jeremy  Collier  especially  attacked  Congrevc  and  Wy^cherley, 
as  men  who  appiictl  their  natural  gifts  to  corrupt  instead  of  purify 


PROFESSIONAL   AUTHOES.  155 

the  stage.  The  public  too  were  scandalized  at  passages  in  Con- 
greve's  "  Double  Dealer,"  a  comedy  of  which  the  author  said  "  the 
mechanical  part  was  perfect."  The  play  was  not  a  success,  and 
the  fault  was  laid  to  its  gross  innuendoes,  and  its  plainer  indecency. 
"I  declare,"  says  the  author,  in  the  preface,  "that  I  took  a  par- 
ticular care  to  avoid  it,  and  if  they  find  any,  it  is  of  their  own 
making,  for  I  did  not  design  it  to  be  so  understood." 

This  point,  on  which  the  author  and  the  public  were  at  issue, 
proves  that  on  the  part  of  the  latter  the  standard  was  improving 
— for  Congreve  is  deep  in  the  mire  before  the  first  scene  is  over. 
He  had  looked  for  censure  for  other  ofience,  and  says  in  his  usual 
lofty  manner  with  the  critics : — *^  I  would  not  have  anybody 
imagine  that  I  think  this  play  without  its  faults,  for  I  am  conscious 
of  several,  and  ready  to  own  'em ;  but  it  shall  be  to  tliose  who  are 
able  to  find  'em  out."  This  is  not  ill  said.  For  the  critics  there 
was  at  least  as  much  contempt  as  fear.  In  "  The  Countiy  Wife," 
Wycherley  speaks  of  "  the  most  impudent  of  creatures,  an  ill  poet, 
or  what  is  yet  more  impudent,  a  second-hand  critic !"  The  less 
distinguished  writers  w^ere,  of  course,  severer  stiU  against  the 
critics. 

In  later  years,  Sheridan  expressed  the  greatest  contempt  for 
such  part  of  the  public  as  found  that  the  grossness  of  Congreve 
was  not  compensated  for  by  his  wit.  Sheridan  avowed  that  Con- 
greve must  be  played  unmutilated  or  be  shelved.  He  compared 
his  great  predecessor  to  a  horse  whose  vice  is  cured  at  the  expense 
of  his  vigor. 

Sheridan  must,  nevertheless,  have  felt  that  he  was  in  error  with 
regard  to  these  old  authors.  In  his  "  Trip  to  Scarborough,"  which 
is  an  entire  recasting  of  Vanbrugh's  "  Relapse,"  he  makes  Loveless 
(Smith)  say,  "  It  would  surely  be  a  pity  to  exclude  the  produc- 
tions of  some  of  our  best  writers  for  want  of  a  little  wholesome 
pruning,  which  might  be  effected  by  any  one  who  possessed 
modesty  enough  to  believe  that  we  should  preserve  all  we  can  of 
our  deceased  authors,  at  least,  till  they  are  outdone  by  the  living 
ones." 

Dryden  said  of  Congreve's  "  Double  Dealer,"  that  though  it  was 
censured  by  the  greater  part  of  the  town,  it  was  approved  of  by 
those  best  qualified  to  judge.     The  people  who  had  a  sense  of 


156  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

decency  were  derided  by  Dryden  ;  they  were  angry,  he  insinuated, 
only  because  the  satire  touched  them  nearly.  Applying  the 
grossest  terms  to  women,  in  a  letter  to  Walsh,  he  protests  that 
the}'  are  incensed  because  Congrcve  exposes  their  vices,  and  that 
the  gallants  are  c<pially  enraged  because  their  vices,  too,  are  ex- 
posed; but  even  if  it  were  true  that  Congreve  copied  from  nature, 
it  is  also  true  that  he  laughs  ivith  his  vicious  and  brilliant  bad 
men  and  women,  makes  a  joke  of  vice,  and  never  attempts  to  cor- 
rect it. 

Dryden,  as  an  erst  Westminster  boy  and  Cambridge  man,  may 
have  felt  some  annoyance  on  the  exposure  of  his  false  quantity  in 
the  penultimate  of  "  Cleomenf  i,"  but  to  a  pert  coffee-house  fop, 
who  presumed  to  review  his  tragedy  of  tliat  name,  he  could  deliver 
a  crushing  reply.  In  that  play  Cleomcnes  virtuously  resists  the 
blandishments  of  Cassandra.  "  Had  I  been  left  alone  with  a 
young  beauty,"  said  a  stripling  critic  to  glorious  John,  "I  would 
not  have  spent  my  time  like  your  Spartan."  "  That,  sir,"  said 
Dryden,  "  perhaps  is  true ;  but  give  me  leave  to  tell  you,  you  are 
no  hero !"  Good  as  this  is,  Lee  said  even  a  better  thing  to  the 
coxcomb  who  visited  him  in  Bedlam,  dui-ing  Lee's  four  years' 
sojourn  there.  "It  is  an  easy  thing,"  observed  this  fellow,  "to 
write  like  a  madman."  "  No,"  answered  Lee,  "  it  is  not  an  easy 
thing  to  write  like  a  madman  ;  but  it  is  very  easy  to  write  like  a 
fool." 

Dryden,  however,  could  criticize  himself  with  justness.  He 
confessed  that  he  was  not  qualified  to  write  comedies.  He  saw, 
too,  the  defects  in  his  tragedies.  lie  was  ashamed  of  his  "Ty- 
rannic Love,"  and  laughed  at  the  rant  and  fustian  of  his  Maximin. 
He  allowed  that  in  his  "  Conquest  of  Granada"  the  sublimity  burst 
into  burlesque,  and  he  could  censure  the  extravagance  of  Alinan- 
zcr  as  freely  as  he  did  the  bombast  of  Maximin.  Still  he  was  un- 
easy under  censure ;  he  was  disappointed  at  the  reception  given 
to  his  "Assignation,"  and  complained  bitterly  of  the  crilics, 
especially  of  Settle.  His  best  defender  was  Charles  II.  Some 
('ourti(;rs  ventured  to  wonder  at  the  King  going  so  often  to  see 
"  The  Spanisli  Friar,"  as  the  piece  was  a  wliolesale  robbery. 
"  Oddii  Fish !"  exclaimed  Charles,  "  select  me  another  such  a 
comedy,  and  I'll  go  and  see  it  as  often  I  do  '  The  Spanish  Friar.' " 


PROFESSrOXAL   AUTHORS.  157 

**A11  for  Love"  is  Drydeii's  most  carefully  written  play,  and  the 
author  repeatedly  declared  that  the  scene  in  Act  1,  between  An- 
thony and  Ventidius,  was  superior  to  any  thing  he  had  ever  com- 
pofied 

Dryden  atti'ibuted  whatever  merit  he  had  as  a  writer  of  prose  to 
having  studied  the  works  of  Tillotson,  and  the  prelate,  it  will  be 
remembered,  owed  some  of  his  graces  of  delivery  to  Betterton. 
In  his  comedies,  Dryden  was  the  encourager,  not  the  scourgcr  of 
vice ;  and  yet  he  could  warmly  approve  the  purity  of  Southerne, 
when  Southerne  chose  to  be  pure,  and  acknowledge  that  it  were 
as  politic  to  silence  vicious  poets  as  seditious  preachers.  If  there 
were  few  good  poets  in  his  day,  Dryden  sees  the  cause  in  the 
turbulence  of  the  times ;  and  if  people  loved  the  stilted  nonsense 
of  heroic  tragedies,  it  was  simply,  he  says,  because  "  the  fashion 
was  set  them  by  the  court."  To  court-protection,  he  himself  owed 
much,  and  he  states  what  one  may  smile  at  now,  that  the  King's 
kindness,  in  calling  the  "  Maiden  Queen"  his  play, — that  singular 
piece,  in  which  there  are  eight  women  and  three  men,  saved  the 
drama  from  the  malice  of  the  poet's  enemies.  There  is  no  such 
privilege  for  poets,  in  our  days  ! 

Had  Shadwell,  who  left  the  law  to  find  a  livelihood  by  litera- 
ture, not  been  a  Whig,  we  should  have  heard  less  of  him  in  par- 
allels or  contrasts  with  Dryden.  Of  his  dramatic  pieces,  amount- 
ing to  about  a  dozen  and  a  half,  there  is  scarcely  one  that  does 
not  please  more  in  perusal  than  any  by  the  poet  of  the  greater 
name, — always  excepting  Dryden's  "  Love  for  Love."  Shadwell's 
"Squire  of  Alsatia,"  "Bury  Fair,"  "Epsora  Wells,"  and  some 
others,  were  necessarily  favorites  with  his  public,  as  they  are  good 
character  comedies,  brisk  with  movement  and  incident.  For 
attacking  Dryden's  "  Duke  of  Guise,"  Dryden  pilloried  the  assail- 
ant for  ever,  as  "  Mac  Flecnoe  ;"  but  when  he  says  that  "  Shadwell 
never  deviates  into  sense,"  he  has  as  little  foundation  for  his 
assertion  as  he  has  for  his  contempt  of  Wilmot,  when  he  says  in 
i\\Q  Essay  upon  Satire,  "Rochester  I  despise  for  want  of  wit.'' 
Rochester  may  have  praised  Shadwell  because  he  hated  Dryden  ; 
but  Dryden's  aspersions  on  the  other  two  spring  decidedly  more 
from  his  passion  than  his  judgment.  To  Shadwell  was  given  the 
laureateship  of  which  Dryden  was  deprived.     The  latter  would 


158  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

have  borne  the  deprivation  better  if  the  laui-el-crov^'n  had  fallen  on 
another  head,  as  he  sings  to  Congreve  : 

"Oh  that  your  brows  my  laurel  had  sustained; 
Well  had  I  been  depos'd,  if  you  had  reigned  1" 

In  one  respect,  Dryden  was  no  match  at  all  for  Shadwell ;  and, 
indeed,  he  has,  inadvertently,  confessed  as  much.  When  speaking 
of  his  incapacity  for  writing  comedy,  he  says,  "  I  want  that  gayety 
of  humor  which  is  required  in  it ;  my  conversation  slow  and  dull ; 
my  humor  saturnine  and  resei"ved.  In  short,  I  am  none  of  those 
who  endeavor  to  break  jests  in  company,  and  endeavor  to  make 
repartees ;  so  that  those  who  decry  my  comedies  do  me  no  injury, 
except  it  be  in  point  of  profit ;  reputation  in  them  is  the  last  thing 
to  which  I  shall  preten  I."  This  is  the  picture  of  a  dull  man,  of 
which  Shadwell,  whose  comedies,  to  say  the  least  of  them,  have 
as  much  merit  as  Dryden's,  was  the  exact  opposite.  He  was  a 
most  brilliant  talker ;  and  Rochester  remarked  of  him  that  even 
had  Shadwell  burnt  all  he  wrote,  and  only  printed  all  he  spoke, 
his  wit  and  humor  Avould  be  found  to  exceed  that  of  any  other 
poet. 

We  come,  however,  to  a  greater  than  Shadwell,  in  Sir  John 
Vanbrugh,  who  belongs  to  two  centuries,  and  who  was  a  man  of 
many  occupations,  but  a  dramatist  by  predilection.  lie  was  ar- 
chitect, poet,  wit,  herald  ;  he  stole  some  of  his  plots  ;  and  he  sold 
his  office  of  Clarencieux,  to  which  he  had  been  appointed,  because 
he  was  a  successful  play-wright.  He  had  humor,  and  was  exceed- 
ingly coarse ;  but,  says  Schlegel,  "  under  Queen  Anne,  manners 
became  again  more  decorous ;  and  this  may  be  easily  traced  in 
the  comedies.  In  the  series  of  English  comic  poets,  Wycherley, 
Congreve,  Farquhar,  Vanbrugh,  Steele,  Gibber,  <fec.,  we  may  per- 
ceive something  like  a  gradation  from  the  most  unblushing  inde- 
cency to  a  tolerable  degree  of  modesty."  This,  however,  is  only 
partly  true  ;  and  Schlegel  himself  remarks  in  the  same  page,  "  that 
after  all  we  know  of  the  licentiousness  of  manners  under  Charles 
II.,  we  are  still  lost  in  astonishment  at  the  audacious  ribaldry  of 
Wycherley  and  Congreve." 

Of  Vanbrugh's  ten  or  eleven  plays,  that  which  has  longest  kept 
the  stage  is  the  "  Relapse,"  still  acted,   in   its  altered  form,   by 


PROFESSIONAL   AUTHORS.  159 

Sheridan,  as  the  "  Trip  to  Sc-u-borough."  This  piece  was  pro- 
duced at  t]ie  Theatre  de  I'Odeon,  in  Paris,  in  the  spring  of  1862, 
as  a  posthumous  comedy  of  Voltaire's  !  It  was  called  the  "  Cerate 
de  Boursoufle,"  and  had  a  "  run."  The  story  ran  with  it  that 
Voltaire  had  composed  it  in  his  younger  days  for  private  represen- 
tation, that  it  had  been  more  than  once  played  in  the  houses  of  his 
noble  friends,  under  various  titles,  that  he  had  then  locked  it  up,  and 
that  the  manuscript  had  only  recently  been  discovered  by  the  lucky 
individual  who  persuaded  the  manager  of  the  Odeon  to  produce  it 
on  his  stage!  The  bait  took.  All  the  French  theatrical  world 
in  the  capital  flocked  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  to  witness  a 
new  play  by  Voltaire.  Critics  examined  the  plot,  philosophized 
on  its  humor,  applauded  its  absurdities,  enjoyed  its  wit,  and  con- 
gratulated themselves  on  the  circumstance  that  the  Voltairean 
wit  especially  was  as  enjoyable  then  as  in  the  preceding  century  ! 
Of  the  authorship  they  had  no  doubt  whatever ;  for,  said  they, 
if  Voltaire  did  not  write  this  piece,  who  comZo?  have  written  it? 
The  reply  was  given  at  once  from  this  country ;  but  when  the 
mystification  was  exposed,  the  French  critics  gave  no  sign  of 
awarding  honor  where  honor  was  due,  and  probably  this  transla- 
tion of  the  "  Relapse"  may  figure  in  future  French  editions  as  an 
undoubted  work  by  Voltaire  ! 

On  looking  back  upon  the  names  of  these  authors  by  profession, 
the  brightest  still  is  Otway's,  of  whom  his  critical  biographers 
have  said  that,  in  tragedy,  few  English  poets  ever  equalled  him. 
His  comedies  are  certainly  detestable  ;  but  of  his  tragedies  "  Ven- 
ice Preserved"  alone  is  ever  now  played.  The  "  Orphan"  is  read ; 
"  Alcibiades."  "  Don  Carlos,"  "  Titus  and  Berenice,"  are  all  for- 
gotten. Successful  as  he  is  in  touching  the  passions,  and  eminent- 
ly so  in  dealing  with  ardent  love,  Otway,  I  think,  is  inferior  to 
Lee,  occasionally,  in  the  latter  respect.  Of  Lee,  Mrs.  Siddon?, 
entertained  the  greatest  admiration,  notwithstanding  his  bombast, 
and  she  read  his  "  Theodosius,  or  the  Force  of  Love,"  with  such 
feeling,  as  to  at  once  wring  sighs  from  the  heart  and  tears  from 
the  eyes.  She  saw  in  Lee's  poetry  a  very  rare  quality,  or,  as 
Campbell  remarks,  "  a  much  more  frequent  capability  for  stage 
efiect  than  a  mere  reader  would  be  apt  to  infer  from  the  super- 
abundance of  the  poet's  extravagance."     Let  it  not  be  forgotten 


IGO  dokan"s  aknals  of  the  stage. 

that  Addison  accuses  Lee  and  Shakspcare  of  a  spurious  sublimity  ; 
and,  he  adds,  that  "  in  these  authors,  the  atiectatiou  of  greatness 
often  hulls  the  perspicuity  of  style  I" 

The  professional  authors  were  not  equally  successful.  Davenant 
achieved  a  good  estate,  and  was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
like  a  gentleman.  Dryden,  with  less  to  bequeath,  was  interred  in 
the  same  place,  without  organ  or  ceremony,  two  choristers  walk- 
ing before  the  body,  candle  in  hand,  and  singing  an  ode  of  Horace, 
— like  a  poet.  His  victim,  Tom  Shadwell,  acquired  wealth,  fairly  ; 
he  lies  in  Chelsea  Church,  but  his  son  raised  a  monument  to  his 
memory  in  the  Abbey,  that  he  might  be  in  thus  much  as  great  a 
man  as  his  satirist.  Congreve,  too,  is  there,  after  enjoying  a 
greater  fortune  than  the  others  together  had  ever  built  up,  and 
leaving  £10,000  of  it  to  Henrietta,  Duchess  of  jSJarlborough,  who 
so  valued  the  "  honor  and  pleasure  of  his  company,"  when  living, 
that,  as  the  next  best  thing,  she  sat  of  an  evening  with  his 
"  wax  figure"  after  he  was  dead.  Among  the  dead  there,  also,  rest 
Cibber,  Vanbrugh,  and  Rowe,  of  whom,  the  first,  too  careless  of 
his  money  aftairs,  died  the  poorest  man. 

Better  men  than  either  of  the  last,  sleep  in  humbler  graves. 
Poor  Nat  Lee,  tottering  homeward  from  the  Bull  and  Harrow,  on 
a  winter's  night,  and  with  more  punch  under  liis  belt  than  his 
brain  could  bear,  falls  down  in  the  snow,  near  Duke  Street,  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields,  and  is  dead  when  he  is  picked  up.  He  is  shuf- 
fled away  to  St,  Clement's  Danes.  If  Lee  died  tipsy,  outside  a 
public-house,  Otway  died  half-starved,  within  one,  at  the  Bull,  on 
Tower  Hill.  The  merits  of  Lee  and  Otway  might  have  carried 
them  to  Westminster,  but  their  misfortunes  barred  the  way 
thither.  Almost  as  unfortunate.  Settle  died,  after  hissing  in  a 
dragon  at  Bartholomew  Fair,  a  recipient  of  the  charity  of  the 
Charter-house.  Crowne  died  in  distress,  just  as  he  hoped  his 
*'  Sir  Courtly  Nice"  would  have  placed  him  at  his  ease.  Wy- 
cherley,  with  less  excuse,  died  more  embarrassed  than  Crowne,  or 
would  have  done  so  had  he  not  robbed  his  young  wife  of  her  por- 
tion, made  it  over  to  his  creditors,  and  left  her  little  wherewith  to 
bury  him  in  the  churchyard  in  Covent  Garden.  Two  other  poets, 
who  passed  away  unencumbered  by  a  single  splendid  shilling,  rest 
in  St.  James's,  Westminster, — Tom  Durfey  and  Bankes.    Careless, 


PROFESSIONAL   AUTHORS.  'l«)l 

easy,  free,  and  fudclling  Tate  died  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  Mint, 
and  St.  George's, South wark,  gave  him  a  few  feet  of  earth  ;  while 
Brady  pushed  his  way  at  court  to  preferment,  and  died  a  comfort- 
able pluralist  and  chaplain  to  Carolitie,  Princess  of  Wales.  Fanpi- 
aar,  with  all  his  wit,  died  a  broken-hearted  beggar,  at  the  age  of 
thirty-seven ;  and  Dennis,  who  struggled  foily  years  longer  with 
fortune,  came  to  the  same  end,  utterly  destitute  of  all  but  the 
contemptuous  pity  of  his  foes,  and  the  insulting  charity  of  Pope. 

I  think  that  of  the  whole  brotherhood,  Southerne,  after  lie  left 
the  army  and  had  sown  his  wild  oats,  was  the  most  prudent  and 
not  the  least  successful.  He  was  a  perfect  gentleman ;  he  did  not 
lounge  away  his  days  or  nights  in  coffee-houses  or  taverns,  but  after 
labor,  cultivated  friendship  in  home  circles,  where  virtue  and  mod- 
erate mirth  sat  at  the  hearth.  In  his  bag-wig,  his  black  velvet 
dress,  his  sword,  powder,  brilliant  buckles,  and  self-possession, 
Southerne  charmed  his  company,  wherever  he  visited,  even  at 
four-score.  He  kept  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  owing  no  man 
any  thing ;  never  allowing  his  nights  to  be  the  marrer  of  his  morn- 
ings ;  and  at  six  and  eighty  carrying  a  bright  eye,  a  steady  hand,  a 
clear  head,  and  a  warm  heart — wherewith  to  calmly  meet  and 
make  suiTender  of  all  to  the  Inevitable  Angel. 

As  Southerne  originally  wrote  "  Oronooko,"  that  tragedy  could 
not  now  be  represented.  The  mixture  of  comic  scenes  with 
tragic  is  not  its  worst  fault.  His  comedies  are  of  no  worth  what- 
ever, except  as  they  illustrate  the  manners  and  habits  of  his  times. 
They  more  closely  resemble  those  of  Ravenscroft  than  of  Congreve 
or  Wycherley.  His  "  Sir  Anthony  Love  "  was  successful ;  it  is 
impossible  to  conjecture  wherefore.  It  has  not  a  wise  sentiment 
or  a  happy  saying  in  it ;  and  all  to  be  learned  from  it  is,  that 
Englishmen,  when  abroad,  in  those  days,  used  to  herd  together  in 
self-defence,  against  being  cheated ;  that  they  were  too  wise  to 
learn  any  thing  by  travel ;  and  were  fond  of  passing  themselves  off 
as  having  made  a  campaign.  As  Cowley  anticipated  Moore,  in 
the  "  Cutter,"  so,  in  "  Sir  Anthony,"  has  Southerne  anticipated 
Burns.  "  Of  the  King's  creation,"  says  the  supposed  Sir  Anthony 
to  Count  Yerola,  "  you  may  be ;  but  he  who  makes  a  count,  never 
made  a  man."  There  is  the  same  sentiment  improved  in  the  well- 
known  lines : 


102  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

A  king  may  mak'  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke,  ar,  a'  that; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 

Gude  faith  he  eauua  fa'  that. 

Southerne  was  not  more  famous  for  tlie  nicety  of  his  costume 
than  "  Uttle  starched  Johnny  Crowne"was  for  his  stiff,  long  cravat,* 
or  Dryden  for  liis  Norwich  drugget  suit,  or  his  gayer  dress  in  later 
days,  when,  with  sword  and  Chadrieux  wig,  he  paraded  the  Mul-- 
berry  garden  with  his  Mistress  Reeve — one  of  that  marvellous 
company  of  1672,  which  writers  with  long  memories  used  to  sub- 
sequently say  could  never  be  got  together  again.  Otway's  thought- 
ful eye  redeemed  his  slovenly  dress,  and  his  fatness,  and  seemed 
to  warrant  the  story  of  his  repenting  after  his  carousing.  Lee 
dressed  as  ill  as  Otway,  but  lacked  his  contemplative  eye,  yet  ex- 
celled him  in  fair  looks,  and  in  a  peculiar  luxuriance  of  hair. 

Shaftesbury, in  his  "  Characteristics,"  shows  us  how  the  play- 
house authors  throned  it  in  coffee-houses,  and  were  worshipped 
by  small  wits.  There  were,  however,  dramatic  authors  who  never 
went  thither ;  and  of  these,  the  ladies,  I  have  now  to  speak. 


THE   DRAMATIC   AUTHORESSES.  163 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE    DRAMATIC    AUTHORESSES. 

During  tliis  half  century,  there  were  seven  ladies  who  were 
more  or  less  distinguished  as  writers  for  the  stage.  These  were 
the  virtuous  Mrs.  Philips,  the  audacious  Aphra  Behn,  the  not  less 
notorious  Mrs.  Manley,  the  gentle  and  learned  Mrs.  Cockburn,  the 
rather  aristocratic  Mrs.  Boothby  (of  whom  nothing  is  known,  but 
that  she  wrote  one  play,  called  "  Marcatia,"  in  1669),  fat  Mrs.  Pix, 
and  that  thorough  Whig,  Mrs.  Centlivre.  The  last  four  belong 
also  to  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century;  and  three  at 
least  apologized  that  they,  women  as  they  were,  should  have  ven- 
tured to  become  dramatists. 

The  "  virtuous  Mrs.  Philips,"  of  Evelyn,  the  "  matchless  Orinda," 
of  Cowley  and  other  poets,  translated  the  "  Pompey  "  and  "  Hor- 
ace "  of  Corneille.  In  those  grave  pieces,  represented  at  Court  in 
the  early  years  of  the  Restoration,  the  poetess  endeavored  to  di- 
rect the  popular  taste,  and  to  correct  it  also.  Had  she  not  died 
(of  small-pox,  and  in  the  thirty-third  year  of  her  age),  she  might 
liave  set  such  example  to  the  play-wrights  as  the  Bettertons  did  to 
the  actors  ;  but  her  good  intentions  were  frustrated,  and  her  place 
was  unhappily  occupied  by  the  most  shameless  woman  who  ever 
took  pen  in  hand,  designedly  to  corrupt  the  public. 

Aphra  Behn  was  a  Kentish  woman,  whose  early  years  were 
passed  at  Surinam,  where  her  father,  Johnson,  had  resided,  as 
lieutenant-general.  After  a  wild  training  in  that  fervid  school,  she 
repaired  to  London,  married  a  Dutchman,  named  Behn,  who 
S(;ems  to  have  straightway  disappeared, — penetrated,  by  means  of 
her  beauty,  to  the  court  of  Charles  H., — and  obtained,  by  means 
of  her  wit,  an  irregular  employment  at  Antwerp, — that  of  a  spy. 
The  letters  of  her  Dutch  lovers  belong  to  romance ;  but  there  is 
warrant  for  the  easy  freedom  of  this  woman's  life.  In  other 
respects   she  w.is   unfortunate.     On  her   return   to  England,  her 


164  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

political  reports  and  propliccies  were  no  more  credited  than  the 
monitions  of  old,  by  Cassandra ;  so  she  abandoned  England  to  its 
fate,  and  herself  "  to  pleasure  and  the  muses." 

Her  opportunites  for  good  were  great,  but  she  abused  them  all. 
She  might  have  been  an  honor  to  womaidiood ; — she  was  its  dis- 
grace. She  might  have  gained  glory  by  her  labors ; — but  she 
chose  to  reap  infamy.  Her  pleasures  were  not  those  which  became 
an  honest  woman;  and  as  for  her  "  Muses,"  she  sat  not  with 
them  on  the  slopes  of  Helicon,  but  dragged  them  down  to  her 
level,  where  the  Nine  and  their  unclean  votary  wallowed  together 
in  the  mire. 

There  is  no  one  that  equals  this  woman  in  downright  nastiness, 
save  Ravenscroft  and  Wycherley ;  but  the  latter  of  these  had 
more  originality  of  invention  and  grace  of  expression.  To  these 
writers,  and  to  those  of  their  detestable  school,  she  set  a  revolting 
example.  Dryden  preceded  her,  by  a  little,  on  the  stage ;  but 
Mrs.  Behn's  trolloping  muse  appeared  there  before  the  other  two 
writers  I  have  mentioned,  and  was  still  making  unseemly  exhi- 
bition there  after  the  coming  of  Congreve.  With  Dryden  she 
vied  in  indecency,  and  was  not  overcome.  To  all  other  male 
writers  of  her  day  she,  served  as  a  provocation  and  an  apology. 
Intellectually,  she  was  qualified  to  have  led  them  through  pure 
and  bright  ways ;  but  she  was  a  mere  harlot,  who  danced  through 
uncleanness,  and  dared  or  lured  them  to  follow.  Remonstrance 
was  useless  with  this  wanton  hussy.  As  for  her  private  life,  it 
has  found  a  champion  in  a  female  friend,  whose  precious  balsam 
breaks  the  head  it  would  anoint.  According  to  this  friend,  Mrs. 
Behn  had  numerous  good  qualities ;  but  "  she  was  a  woman  of 
sense,  and  consequently  loved  pleasure ;"  and  she  was  "  more  gay 
and  free  than  the  modesty  of  the  precise  will  allow." 

Of  Aphra  Behn's  eighteen  plays,  produced  between  1671  and 
1696, — before  which  last  year,  however,  she  had  died, — but  few 
are  original.  They  are  adaptations  from  Marlowe,  from  Wilkins, 
from  Killigrew,  from  Brome,  from  Tatham,  from  Shirley,  from 
the  Italian  comedy,  from  Moliere,  and  more  legitimately  from  the 
old  romances.  She  adapted  skilfully ;  and  she  was  never  dull. 
But  then,  all  her  vivacity  is  wjusted  on  iilth.  When  the  public 
sent  forth  a  cry  of  horror  at  some  of  the  scenes  in  her  play  of 


THE   DRAMATIC   AUTflOKESSES.  165 

"  The  Lucky  Chance,"  she  vindicated  herself  by  asking,  "  was  she 
not  loyal  ?" — "  Tory  to  the  back  bone  ;" — had  she  not  made  the 
King's  enemies  ridiculous,  in  her  five-act  farces ; — and  had  she 
not  done  homage  to  the  King,  by  dedicating  her  "  Feigned  Cour- 
tezans" to  Nell  Gwyn,  and  styling  that  worthy  sister  of  her's  in 
vice  and  good  nature, — so  perfect  a  creature  as  to  be  something 
akin  to  divinity  ? 

For  Mrs,  Manley  there  was  more  excuse.  That  poor  daughter 
of  an  old  royalist  had  some  reason  to  depict  human  nature  as  bad, 
in  man  and  in  woman.  The  young  orphan  trusted  herself  to  the 
guardianship  of  a  seductive  kinsman,  who  married  her  when  he 
had  a  wife  still  living.  This  first  wrong  destroyed  her,  but  not 
her  villanous  cousin  ;  and,  unfortunately,  the  woman  upon  whom 
the  world  looked  cool,  incurred  the  capricious  compassion  of  the 
Duchess  of  Cleveland.  When  the  caprice  was  over,  and  Mrs. 
Manley  had  only  her  own  resources  to  rely  upon,  she  scorned  the 
aid  offered  her  by  General  Tidcombe,  and  made  her  first  venture 
for  the  stage  in  the  tragedy  of  "  Royal  Mischief,"  produced  at  the 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  theatre,  in  1696.  It  is  all  desperate  love,  of 
a  very  bad  quality,  and  indiscriminate  murder,  relieved  by  variety 
in  the  mode  of  killing  ;  one  unfortunate  gentleman,  named  Osman, 
being  thrust  into  a  cannon  and  fired  from  it,  after  which  his  wife, 
Selima,  is  said  to  be 

"  Gathering  the  smoking  relics  of  her  lord  1" 

The  authoress,  in  her  next  venture,  in  the  same  year,  a  comedy, 
written  in  a  week,  and  which  perished  in  a  night,  "  Tlie  Lost 
Lover,"  introduced  what  the  public  had  been  taught  to  appreciate 
— a  virtuous  wife.  Her  other  pieces,  written  at  intervals  of  ten 
years,  were  "  Almyna,"  founded  on  the  story  of  the  Caliph  who 
was  addicted  to  marrying  one  day,  and  beheading  his  wife  the 
next ;  and  "  Lucius,"  a  semi-sacred  play,  on  the  supposed  first 
Christian  king  of  Britian — both  unsuccesssful. 

Mrs.  Manley  survived  till  1724.  When  not  under  the  "protec- 
tion" of  a  friend,  or  in  decent  mourning  for  tlie  lovers  who  died 
mad  for  her,  she  was  engaged  in  composing  the  Memoirs  of  the 
New  Atalantis, — a  satire  against  the  Whig  ministry,  the  author- 
ship  of  which  she   courageously   avowed,  rather  than   that  the 


166  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

printer  and  publisher  sliould  suft'er  for  lier.  The  Tory  ministry 
which  succeeded,  empUiyed  lier  pen  ;  and  with  Swift's  Alderman 
Barber, — he  being  Tory  printer,  she  resided  till  her  death,  mis- 
tress of  the  liouse,  and  of  the  aldei'man. 

Contemporary  with  Mrs.  Manley  was  Miss  Trotter,  the  daughter 
of  a  Scottish  officer,  but  better  known  as  Mrs.  Cockburn,  wife  and 
widow  of  an  English  clergyman.  She  was  at  first  a  very  learned 
young  lady,  whose  speculations  took  her  to  tlie  church  of  Rome, 
from  which  in  later  years  she  seceded.  She  was  but  seventeen, 
Avhen,  in  1696,  lier  sentimental  tragedy,  "Agnes  de  Castro,"  was  ■ 
played  at  Drury  Lane,  Her  career,  as  writer  for  the  stage,  lasted 
ten  years,  during  which  she  produced  five  pieces,  all  of  a  senti- 
mental but  refined  class, — illustrating  love,  friendship,  repentance, 
and  conjugal  faith.  There  is  some  amount  of  word-spinning  in 
these  plays ;  and  this  is  well  marked  by  Genest's  comment  on 
Mrs.  Cockburn's  "  Revolution  of  Sweden,"  namely,  that  if  Con- 
stantia,  in  the  third  act,  had  been  influenced  by  common  sense, 
she  would  liave  spoiled  the  remainder  of  the  play. 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Cockburn  was  a  clever  woman,  and  kept  no 
dull  household,  though  she  there  wrote  a  defence  of  Locke,  while 
her  reverend  husband  was  pursuing  an  account  of  the  Mosaic 
deluge.  As  a  metaphysical  and  controversial  writer,  she  gathered 
laurels  and  abuse  in  her  day,  for  the  latter  of  which  she  found 
compensation  in  the  friendship  and  admiration  of  Warburton. 
She  was  a  valiant  woman,  too  ;  one,  whom  asthma  and  the  ills  of 
life  could  not  deter  from  labor.  But  death  relieved  her  from  all 
these,  in  1749  ;  and  she  is  remembered  in  the  history  of  literature 
as  a  good  and  well-accomplished  woman ;  the  very  opposite  of 
Mrs.  Behn  and  all  her  heroines. 

Fat  Mrs.  Pix  enjoyed  a  ceilain  sort  of  vogue  from  1690  to 
1709.  She  came  from  Oxfordshire,  was  the  daughter  of  a  clersrv- 
man,  was  married  to  a  Mr.  Pix,  and  was  a  woman  of  genius,  and 
much  flesh.  She  wrote  eleven  plays,  but  not  one  of  them 
lias  survived  to  our  time.  Her  comedies  are,  however, 
full  of  life ;  her  tragedies  more  than  brimful  of  loyalty ;  later 
dramatists  liave  not  disdained  to  pick  up  some  of  Mrs.  Pix's  for- 
gotten incidents ;  and,  indeed,  contemporary  play-wriglits  stole 
her  playful  lightning,  if  not  her  thunder ;    her  plots  were  not  ill- 


THE    DRAMATIC   AUTHORESSES.  167 

conceived,  but  tliey  were  carried  out  by  inexpressive  language, 
Rome  of  her  tragedies  being  in  level  prose,  and  some,  mixtures  of 
rhyme  and  blank  verse.  She  herself  occasionally  remodelled  an 
old  play,  but  did  not  improve  it ;  while,  when  she  trusted  to  her- 
selr^  at  least  in  a  farcical  sort  of  comedy,  she  was  bustling  and 
humorous.  Mrs.  Manley,  Mrs.  Cockburn,  and  Mrs.  Pix  were 
ridiculed  in  a  farce  called  the  "  The  Female  Wits,"  their  best  en- 
dowments satirized,  and  their  peculiarities  mimicked.  Tlie  first 
and  last  of  those  ladies  represented  some  of  their  dramas  as  writ- 
ten by  men,  a  subterfuge  to  which  a  greater  than  either  of  them 
was  also  obliged  to  resort,  namely,  Susanna  Centli\Te. 

Susanna  Freeman  was  her  maiden  name.  She  was  the  orphan 
daughter  of  a  stout  but  hardly-dealt  with  parliamentarian,  and  of 
a  mother  who  died  too  early  for  the  daughter's  remembrance. 
Anthony  Hammond  is  said  to  have  been  in  love  with  her,  a 
nephew  of  Sir  Stephen  Fox  to  have  married  her,  and  a  Captain 
Carrol  to  have  left  her  a  widow — all  before  she  was  well  out  of 
her  teens.  Thus  she  had  passed  through  a  school  of  experience, 
and  to  turn  it  to  account,  Susanna  Carrol  began  writing  for 
the  stage.  Writing  for — and  acting  on  it,  for  we  find  her  in  1706 
playing  "  Alexander  the  Great"  at  Windsor,  where  she  also  mar- 
ried Mr.  Centlivre,  Queen  Anne's  chief  cook. 

Of  Mrs.  Centlivre's  nineteen  plays,  three  at  least  are  still  well 
known,  the  "  Busy  Body,"  the  "  Wonder,"  and  "  A  Bold  Stroke  for 
a  Wife."  When  she  offered  the  first  to  the  players — it  was  her 
ninth  play — the  actors  unanimously  denounced  it.  Wilks,  who 
had  hitherto  been  unaccustomed  to  the  want  of  straining  after  wit, 
the  common  sense,  the  unforced  sprightliness,  the  homely  nature, 
for  which  this  piece  is  distinguished — declared  that  not  only  would 
it  be  "  damned,"  but  that  the  author  of  it.  could  hardly  expect  to 
avoid  a  similar  destiny ;  and  yet  its  triumph  was  undo  ibted, 
though  cumulative. 

Hitherto  the  authoress  had  written  a  tragi-comedy  or  two,  the 
comic  scenes  in  which  alone  gave  evidence  of  strength,  but  not 
always  of  delicacy.  She  had,  in  others,  stolen  wholesale  from 
Moliere,  and  the  old  English  dramatists.  She  produced  a  con 
tinuation  to  the  "  Busy  Body,"  in  "  Marplot,"  but  we  do  not  care 
for  it ;  and  it  is  not  till  her  fourteenth  piece,  the  "  Wonder,"  ap- 


168  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

peared  in  1714,  that  she  again  challenges  admiration.  This,  too, 
is  an  adaptation ;  but  it  is  superior  to  the  "  Wrangling  Lovers," 
fi'om  which  it  is  partly  taken,  and  which  had  no  such  hen) 
as  the  Don  Felix  of  Wilks.  The  "  Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife" 
was  first  played  in  1718,  when  the  Tory  public  had  forgiven  the 
author  for  her  satires  against  them,  and  the  theatrical  public  het 
fresh  adaptations  of  old  scenes  and  stories.  The  "  Bold  Stroke 
for  a  Wife"  is  entirely  her  own,  and  has  had  a  wonderful  succes- 
sion of  Colonel  Feignwells,  froni  C.  Bullock  down  to  Mr.  Brahanj ! 
This  piece,  however,  was  but  moderately  successful ;  but  it  has 
such  vivacity,  fun,  and  quiet  liumor  in  it,  that  it  has  outlived 
many  a  one  that  began  with  greater  triumph,  and  in  "the  real 
Simon  Pure,"  first  acted  by  Griffin,  it  has  given  a  proverb  to  the 
English  language.  One  other  piece,  the  "Artifice,"  a  five  act 
farce,  played  in  1722,  concludes  the  list  of  plays  from  the  pen  of 
this  industrious  and  gifted  woman. 

Mrs.  Centlivre  had  unobtrusive  humor,  sayings  full  of  signifi- 
cance rather  than  wit,  wholesome  fun  in  her  comic,  and  earnestness 
in  her  serious,  characters.  Mrs.  Centlivre,  in  her  pictures  of  life, 
attracts  the  spectator.  There  may  be,  now  and  then,  something, 
as  in  Dutch  pictures,  which  had  been  as  well  away  ;  but  this  apart, 
all  the  rest  is  true,  and  pleasant,  and  hearty ;  the  grouping  perfect, 
the  color  faithful,  and  enduring  too — despite  the  cruel  sneer  of 
Pope,  who,  in  the  Life  of  Curll,  sarcastically  alludes  to  her  as 
"the  cook's  wife  in  Buckingham  Court,"  in  which  vicinity  to 
Spring  Gardens,  Mrs.  Centlivre  died  in  1723. 

Such  were  the  characteristics  of  the  principal  authors  who  led, 
followed,  trained,  or  flattered,  the  public  taste  of  the  last  lialf  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  a  few  of  them  of  the  first  pari  of  the 
century  which  succeeded.  Before  we  pass  onward  to  the  '.!,VigQ  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  let  us  cast  a  glance  back,  and  lo  «  a'.,  the 
quality  of  the  audiences  for  whom  these  poets  catered. 


AUDIENCES   OF  THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.       169 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  AUDIENCES  OF  THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY. 

Speedily  after  the  Restoration,  there  was  no  more  constant 
visitor  at  the  theatre  than  Charles  IL,  with  a  gay  and  what  is 
called  a  gallant  gathering.  Thus  we  are  an-ested  by  a  crowd  at 
the  Temple  Gate.  On  the  15th  of  August,  1661,  Charles  and  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  York  are  leaving  the  apartments  of  the 
Reader,  Sir  Henry  Finch,  with  whom  they  have  been  dining,  and 
an  eager  audience  is  awaiting  them  in  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 
Theatre,  where  "  The  Wits"  is  to  be  represented — a  piece  "  never 
yet  acted,"  says  Pepys,  "  with  scenes."  Two  nights  later,  the 
same  piece  is  playing,  and  the  Queen  of  Bohemia  is  there, 
"  brought  by  my  Lord  Craven,"  whom  some  do  not  scruple  to 
speak  of  as  the  ex-Queen's  husband.  A  week  later,  Charles  and 
"  Madame  Palmer"  were  at  the  theatre  in  Drury  Lane,  with  the 
Duke  of  York  and  his  wife.  "  My  wife,"  says  Pepys,  "  to  her 
gi'cat  content,  had  a  full  sight  of  them  all  the  while."  Tlie  King's 
Madame  Palmer  became,  in  fact,  an  attraction ;  seated  between 
Charles  and  his  brother,  Pepys  beheld  her  a  few  weeks  later, 
when  he  and  his  wife  escorted  Lord  Sandwich's  young  daughters 
to  the  theatre,  and  obtained  places  close  to  Madame  and  her 
double  escort.  The  j^Iay  was  Jonson's  "  Bartholomew  Fair,"  with 
the  puppets,  and  all  its  virulent  satire  against  the  Puritans,  As 
Pepys  listened  and  remembered  that  no  one  had  dared  to  bring 
forward  this  slashing  play  for  the  last  forty  years,  he  wondered  at 
the  audacity  of  managers  now,  and  grieved  that  the  King  should 
countenance  it.  But  what  recked  the  laughing  King,  when  Puri- 
tanism was  in  the  dust,  and  troops  of  cavaliers  were  singing 
"  Up  we  go  ?" 

Occasionalh',  if  Pepys  witnesses  a  play  ill-acted,  he  finds  com- 
pensation in  sitting  near  some  "  pretty  and  ingenious  lady."  At 
tliut  time  oranges  were  more  costly  than  pines  are  now,  and  to 
Vol.  I.— 8 


170  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

offer  one  of  tlie  former,  even  to  an  unknown  fair  neighbor,  was  an 
intimation  of  a  readiness  on  the  part  of  the  presenter  to  open  a 
conversation.  To  behold  his  most  sacred  Majesty  seated  in  liis 
box  was  for  ever,  with  Pepys,  even  a  stronger  attraction  than  the 
eyes  or  the  wit  of  the  fairest  and  sprightliest  of  la<lies.  Again 
and  again  he  registers  a  vow  to  refrain  frona  resorting  to  tlie  thea- 
tre during  a  certain  period,  but  lie  no  sooner  hears  of  tlie  presence 
there  of  his  religious  and  gracious  King,  than  he  breaks  his  vow, 
rushes  to  the  play,  perjures  himself  out  of  loyal  courtesy,  and 
next  morning  writes  himself  down  an  ass. 

At  the  Cockpit  in  Drury  Lane,  Charles's  consort,  Catherine,  was 
exhibited  to  the  English  people  for  the  first  time,  on  an  autumn 
afternoon  of  1662,  when  Shirley's  "Cardinal"  was  represented. 
Pepys,  of  course,  was  there  too  ;  and  reproduces  the  scene :  "  By 
very  good  fortune,  I  did  follow  four  or  five  gentlemen  who  were 
carried  to  a  little  private  door  in  a  wall,  and  so  crept  through  a 
narrow  place,  and  came  into  one  of  the  boxes  next  the  King's,  but 
so  as  I  could  not  see  the  King  or  Queen,  but  many  of  the  fine 
ladies,  who  are  not  really  so  handsome  generally,  as  I  used  to 
take  them  to  be,  but  that  they  are  finely  dressed.  The  company 
that  came  in  with  me  into  the  box  were  all  Frenchmen  that  could 
speak  no  English ;  but.  Lord,  what  sport  they  made  to  ask  a 
pvetty  lady  that  they  got  among  them,  that  understood  both  French 
and  English,  to  make  her  tell  them  what  the  actors  said !" 

Soon  after  this,  in  dreary  November,  there  is  again  a  crowded 
audience  to  greet  the  King  and  Queen,  with  whom  now  appears 
the  Castlemaine,  once  more,  and  near  her  Lucy  Walter's  boy,  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth,  all  beauty  and  pretty  assurance ;  and  Pepys 
sees  no  harm  in  a  company  who  have  come  together  to  witness  a 
curaedy  whose  name  might  well  describe  the  look  and  bearing  of 
the  outraged  Queen,  namely,  the  "  Scornful  Lady."  No  wonder 
that,  in  December,  at  the  tragedy  of  the  "  Valiant  Cid,"  she  di ' 
not  smile  once  during  the  whole  play.  But  nobody  present  on 
that  occasion  seemed  to  take  any  pleasure  but  what  was  in  the 
greatness  and  gallantry  of  the  con>pany. 

That  greatness  and  that  gallantry  were  the  idols  of  the  diarist. 
"With  what  scorn  he  talks  of  the  audience  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  a 
few  days  later,  when  the  "  Siege  of  Rhodes"  was  rcprcL,ented.     lie 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.        171 

was  ill-pleased.  The  house  was  "  full  of  cidzens  /"  "  There  was 
hardly,"  says  the  fastidious  son  of  an  honest  tailor,  "  a  gallant  man 
or  woman  in  the  house  !"  So,  in  Januar}^  1663,  at  the  same 
theatre,  he  records  that  "  it  was  full  of  citizens,  and  so  the  less 
pleasant."  The  Duke's  House  was  less  "  genteel"  than  the  Cock- 
pit ;  but  the  royal  visitors  at  the  latter  were  not  much  more 
refined  in  their  manners  than  the  audience  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
or  Salisbury  Court.  Early  in  Januaiy,  1663,  the  Duke  of  York 
and  his  wife  honored  a  play  of  Killigrew's  by  their  presence, 
and  did  not  much  edify  the  spectators  by  their  conduct, 
"They  did  show,"  writes  the  immortal  journalist,  "some  im- 
pertinent and  methought  unnatural  dalliances  there,  before  the 
whole  world,  such  as  kissing  of  hands,  and  leaning  one  upon 
another." 

But  there  were  worse  scenes  than  these  conjugal  displays  at  the 
King's  House.  When  Pepys  was  dying  to  obtain  the  only  prize 
in  all  the  world  he  desired,  Lady  Castlemaine's  picture,  that  bold 
.  person  was  beginning  to  lose,  at  once,  both  her  beauty  and  her 
place  of  favor  with  the  King.  Pepys  was  immensely  gTieved,  for 
she  was  always  more  to  him  than  the  play  and  players  to  boot. 
He  had  reason,  however,  to  be  satisfied  that  she  had  not  lost  her 
boldness.  In  January,  1664,  the  "Indian  Queen"  was  played  at 
the  King's  House,  in  Druiy  Lane.  Lady  Castlemaine  was  present 
before  the  King  arrived.  When  he  entered  his  box,  the  Countess 
.caned  over  some  ladies  who  sat  between  her  and  the  royal  box, 
and  whispered  to  Charles.  Having  been  thus  bold  in  face  of  the 
audience,  she  arose,  left  her  own  box  and  appeared  in  the  King's, 
where  she  deliberately  took  a  place  between  Charles  and  liis 
brother.  It  was  not  the  King  alone,  but  the  whole  audience  with 
him  who  were  put  out  of  countenance  by  this  cool  audacity,  ex- 
hibited to  prove  that  she  was  not  so  much  out  of  favor  as  the 
world  believed. 

What  a  contrast  is  presented  by  the  appearance  of  Cromwell's 
daughter.  Lady  Mary,  in  her  box  at  this  same  theatre,  Avith  her 
husband,  Viscount  Falconbridge !  Pepys  praises  her  looks  and 
her  dress,  and  suggests  a  modest  embarrassment  on  her  part  as 
the  house  began  to  fill,  and  the  admiring  spectators  began  to 
^aze  too   curiously   on   Oliver's  loved   child ;    "  she   put   on   her 


172  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

vizard,  and  so  kept  it  on  all  the  play,  which  of  late  has  become 
a  great  fashion  among  the  ladies,  which  hides  their  whole  face." 

Mary  Cromwell,  modestly  masked,  was  a  prettier  sight  than 
what  Pepys  on  other  occasions  describes  as  "  all  the  pleasure  of 
the  play ;"  meaning  thereby,  the  presence  of  Lady  Castlemaine,  or 
of  Miss  Stewart,  her  rival  in  royal  favor,  but  not  her  equal  in  peei- 
less  beauty.  With  these,  but  in  less  exalted  company  than  they, 
we  now  meet  with  Nell  Gwyn,  in  front  of  the  house.  She  is  seen 
gossiping  with  Pepys,  who  is  ecstatic  at  the  condescension ;  or 
she  is  blazing  in  the  boxes,  prattling  with  the  young  and  scented 
fops,  and  impudently  lying  across  any  three  of  them,  that  she 
may  converse  as  she  pleases  with  a  fourth.  And  there  is  Sir 
Charles  Sedley  looking  on,  smiling  with  or  at  the  actors  of  these 
scenes,  among  the  audience,  or  sharply  and  wittily  criticizing  the 
players  on  the  stage,  and  the  words  put  into  their  mouths  by  the 
author,  or  flirting  with  vizard  masks  in  the  pit.  Altogether,  there 
is  much  confusion  and  interruption ;  but  there  is  also,  occasion- 
ally, disturbance  of  another  sort,  as  when,  in  June,  1664,  a  stonn, 
of  hail  and  rain  broke  through  the  roof  of  the  King's  House,  and 
drove  the  half-drowned  people  from  the  pit  in  a  disorder  not  at 
all  admired. 

Like  Evelyn,  Pepys  was  often  at  the  Court  plays,  but,  except 
with  the  spectacle  of  the  Queen's  ladies,  and  the  King's,  too,  for 
that  matter,  he  found  small  delight  there, — the  house,  although 
fine,  being  bad  for  hearing.  This  Court  patronage,  public  and 
private,  increased  the  popularity  of  the  drama,  as  the  vices  of  the 
King  increased  the  fashion  of  being  dissolute ;  and  when  Charles 
was  sadly  in  need  of  a  collecting  of  members  of  pari  lament  to  throw 
out  a  bill  which  very  much  annoyed  him,  and  was  carried  against 
him,  he  bade  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  scour  the  play  and  other 
houses,  where  he  knew  his  parliamentary  friends  were  to  be  found, 
and  to  send  them  down  to  vote  in  favor  of  their  graceless  master. 

Ladies  of  quality,  and  of  good  character,  too,  could  in  those 
days  appear  in  masks  in  the  boxes,  and  unattended.  The  vizard 
had  not  yet  fallen  to  the  disreputable.  Such  ladies  as  are  above 
designated  entered  into  struggles  of  wit  with  the  fine  gentlemen, 
bantering  them  unmercifully,  calling  thom  by  their  names,  and 
refusing  to  tell  their  own.     All  this  was  to  the  disturbance  of  tho 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.        173 

re,  but  this  battle  of  the  wits  was  so  fi-equently  more  amusing 
than  what  might  be  passing  for  the  moment  on  the  stage,  that  the 
audience  near  listened  to  the  disputants  rather  than  to  the  actoi-s. 
Sir  Cliarles  Sedley  was  remarkable  as  a  disputant  with  the  ladies, 
and  as  a  critic  of  the  players.  That  the  overhearing  of  what  was 
said  by  the  most  famous  of  the  box  visitors  was  a  pleasant  pastime 
of  many  hearers,  is  made  manifest  by  Pepys,  who  once  took  his 
place  on  "  the  upper  bench  next  the  boxes,"  and  described  it  as 
having  "  the  advantage  of  seeing  and  hearing  the  great  people, 
which  may  be  pleasant  when  there  is  good  store." 

To  no  man  then  living  in  England  did  fellowship  with  people 
of  quality  convey  such  intense  delight  as  to  Pepys.  "  Lord  !"  he 
exclaims,  in  May,  1667,  "how  it  went  against  my  heart  to  go 
away  from  the  very  door  of  the  Duke's  playhouse,  and  my  Lady 
Castlemaine's  coach,  and  many  great  coaches  there,  to  see  '  The 
Siege  of  Rhodes.'  I  was  very  near  making  a  forfeit,"  he  adds, 
"  but  I  did  command  myself." 

He  was  happiest  with  a  baronet  like  Sir  Philip  Frowd  at  his 
side,  and  behind  him  a  couple  of  impertinently  pretty  actresses, 
like  Pierce  and  Knipp,  pulling  his  hair,  drawing  him  into  gos- 
siping flirtations,  and  inducing  him  to  treat  them  with  fruit.  The 
constant  presence  of  lively  actresses  in  the  front  of  the  house  was 
one  of  the  features  of  the  times,  and  a  dear  delight  to  Pepys,  who 
was  never  weary  of  admiring  their  respective  beauties. 

Proud  as  he  was  of  sitting,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  in  a 
box,  at  four  shillings,  he  still  saw  the  pit  occupied  by  greater  men 
than  any  around  him,  particularly  on  the  first  night  of  a  new 
piece.  When  Etherege's  comedy,  "  She  Would  if  She  Could," 
was  first  played,  in  February,  1668,  to  one  of  the  most  crowded, 
critical,  and  discontented  audiences  that  had  ever  assembled  in 
the  Duke's  House,  the  pit  was  brilliant  with  peers,  gallants,  and 
wits.  There,  openly  sat  Buckingham,  and  Buckhurst,  and  Sedley, 
and  the  author,  with  many  more ;  and  there  went  on,  as  the  audi- 
ence waited  till  the  pelting  rain  outside  had  ceased  to  fall,  com- 
ment and  counter-comment  on  the  merits  of  the  piece  and  of  the 
actors.  Etherege  found  fault  with  the  players,  but  the  public  as 
loudly  censui-ed  the  piece,  condemning  it  as  silly  and  insipid,  but 
allowing  it  to  possess  a  certain  share  of  wit  and  roguishness. 


174:  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

From  an  entry  in  the  Diary  for  the  21st  of  December,  1668, 
we  learn  that  Lady  Castlemaine  had  a  double,  who  used  to  appear 
at  the  theatre  to  the  annoyance  of  my  lady,  and  the  amusement 
of  her  royal  friend.  Indeed,  here  is  a  group  of  illustrations  of 
the  "  front  of  the  stage ;"  the  house  is  the  Duke's,  the  play  "  Mac- 
beth." "  The  King  and  Court  tliere,  and  we  sat  just  under  them 
and  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  and  close  to  a  woman  that  comes  into 
the  pit,  a  kind  of  a  loose  gossip  that  pretends  to  be  like  her,  and 
is  so,  something.  The  King  and  Duke  of  York  minded  me,  and 
smiled  upon  me,  at  the  handsome  woman  near  me,  but  it  vexed 
me  to  see  Moll  Davis,  in  a  box  over  the  King's  and  my  Lady 
Castlemaine's,  look  down  upon  the  King,  and  he  up  to  her ;  and 
so  did  my  Lady  Castlemaine  once,  to  see  who '  it  was ;  but  when 
she  saw  Moll  Davis,  she  looked  like  fire,  which  troubled  me." 

To  these  audiences  were  presented  dramatic  pieces  of  a  very 
reprehensible  quality.  Charles  IL  lias  been  more  blamed  than 
any  other  individual,  because  of  this  licentiousness  of  the  stage. 
I  have  before  ventured  to  intimate,  that  the  long-accepted  idea 
that  the  court  of  Charles  IL  corrupted  English  society,  and  that  it 
did  so  especially  through  patronizing  the  licentiousness  of  poets 
and  the  stage,  seems  to  me  untenable.  From  of  old  there  had 
been  a  corrupt  society,  and  a  society  protesting  against  the  cor- 
ruption. Before  Charles  made  his  first  visit  to  the  theatre,  there 
was  lying  in  Newgate  the  ex-royalist,  but  subsecjucntly  Puritan 
poet,  George  Withers.  In  the  dedication  of  his  Hallelujah,  in 
1641,  he  thus  describes  the  contemporary  condition  of  society: — 
"So  innumerable  are  the  foolish  and  profane  songs  now  delighted 
in,  to  the  dishonor  of  our  language  and  religion,  that  hallelu- 
jahs and  pious  meditations  are  almost  out  of  use  and  fashion ; 
vea,  not  at  private  only,  but  at  our  public  feasts,  and  civil  meet- 
ings also,  scurrilous  and  obscene  songs  are  impudently  sung,  with- 
out respecting  the  reverend  presence  of  matrons,  virgins,  magis- 
trates, or  divines.  Nay,  sometimes  in  their  despite  they  are  called 
for,  sung,  and  acted,  with  such  abominable  gesticulations,  as  are 
very  offensive  to  all  modest  hearers  and  beholders,  and  fitting  only 
to  be  exhibited  at  the  diabolical  assemblies  of  Bacchus,  Venus,  or 
I'riapus  !" 

lu  the  collection  of  hymns,  under  this  title  of  Hallelujah, 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTUEY.       175 

tlicre  is  a  I13  inii  for  every  condition  in  and  circumstance  of  life, 
from  the  King  to  the  Tailor ;  from  a  hymn  for  the  use  of  two 
ardent  lovers,  to  a  spiritual  song  of  grateful  resignation  "  for  a 
Widower  or  a  Widow  deprived  of  a  troublesome  Yokefellow  !'* 
There  is  none  for  the  player ;  but  there  is  this  hit  at  the  poets, 
who  supplied  him  with  unseemly  phrases,  and  the  flattering  friends 
who  crowned  such  bards  : 

"  Blasphemous  fancies  are  infused, 

All  holy  new  things  are  expell'd, 
He  that  hath  most  profanely  mused, 

Is   famed   as   having  most  excelled  : 
Such  are  those  poets  in  these  days, 

Who  vent  the  fumes  of  lust  and  wine. 
Then  crown  each  other's  heads  with  bays, 

As  if  their  poems  were  divine." 

Against  the  revived  fashion  of  licentious  plays,  some  of  the 
wisest  men  among  theatrical  audiences  protested  loudly.  No 
man  raised  his  voice  with  greater  urgency  than  Evelyn.  Within 
Bix  years  of  the  Restoration,  he,  who  was  in  frequency  of  play- 
going  only  second  to  Pepys,  but  as  sharp  an  observer  and  a  graver 
censor  than  the  Admiralty  clerk,  addressed  a  letter  to  Lord  Corn- 
bury  on  this  important  subject.  The  letter  was  written  a  few 
weeks  previous  to  the  Lent  season  of  1665,  and  the  writer  mourns 
over  a  scandal  less  allowed  in  any  city  of  Christendom,  than  in 
the  metropolis  of  England,  namely — "  the  frequency  of  our  the- 
atrical pastimes  during  the  indiction  of  Lent.  Here  in  London," 
he  says,  "  there  were  more  wicked  and  obscene  plays  permitted 
than  in  all  the  world  besides.  At  Paris  three  days,  at  Rome  two 
weekly,  and  at  the  other  cities,  Florence,  Venice,  &c.,  only  at  cer- 
tain jolly  periods  of  the  year,  and  that  not  without  some  consider- 
able emolument  to  the  public,  while  our  interludes  here  are  every 
day  alike  ;  so  that  the  ladies  and  gallants  come  reeking  from  the 
piay  late  on  Saturday  nighC  (was  Saturday  then  a  fashionable 
day  for  late  performances  ?)  "  to  their  Sunday  devotions ;  and  the 
ideas  of  the  farce  possess  their  fancies  to  the  infinite  prejudice  of 
devotion,  besides  the  advantages  it  gives  to  our  reproachful  blas- 
phemers.''    Evelyn,  however,  does  not  pursue  his  statement  to  a 


176  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

logical  exclusion.  He  proposes  to  close  the  houses  on  Friday  and 
Saturday,  or  to  represent  plays  on  these  nights  only  for  the  hene- 
fit  of  paupers  in  or  out  of  the  workhouses.  Remembering  ratlier 
tlie  actresses  who  disgraced  womanhood,  than  such  an  cxem{)lary 
and  reproachless  pair  as  Bettei'ton  and  his  wife,  he  recommends 
robbery  of  the  "  debauched  comedians,"  as  he  calls  them,  without 
scruple.  What  if  they  be  despoiled  of  a  hundred  or  so  a  year  ? 
They  will  still  enjoy  more  than  they  were  ever  born  to ;  and  the  sacri- 
fice, he  quaintly  says,  will  consecrate  their  scarce  allowable  imper- 
tinences. He  adds,  with  a  seriousness  which  implies  his  censure 
of  the  royal  approval  of  the  bad  taste  which  had  brought  degrada- 
tion on  the  stage — "  Plays  are  now  become  with  us  a  licentious 
excess,  and  a  vice,  and  need  severe  censors,  that  should  look  as 
well  to  their  morality  as  to  their  lives  and  numbers." 

This  grave  and  earnest  censor,  however,  allowed  himself  to  be 
present  at  stage  representations  which  he  condemns.  He  objects 
but  does  not  refrain.  He  witnesses  masques  at  Court,  and  says 
little ;  enjoys  his  play,  and  denounces  the  enjoyment,  in  his  diary, 
when  he  reaches  home.  He  has  as  acute  an  eye  on  the  behavior 
of  the  ladies,  especially  among  the  audience,  as  for  what  is  being 
uttered  on  the  stage.  "  I  saw  the  tragedy  of  '  Horace,'  "  he  tells 
us,  in  February,  1668,  "written  by  the  virtuous  Mrs.  PhilHps, 
acted  before  their  Majesties.  Betwixt  each  act  a  masque  and 
antique  dance."  Then  speaking  of  the  audience,  where  the 
King's  "  lady"  was  wont  to  outblaze  the  King's  "  wife,"  he  adds : 
— "  The  excessive  gallantry  of  the  ladies  was  infinite :  those  es- 
pecially on  that  .  .  Castlemaine,  esteemed  at  £40,000  and  more, 
far  outshining  the  Queen."  Later  in  the  year  he  is  at  a  new  play 
of  Dryden's,  "  with  several  of  my  relations."  He  describes  the 
plot  as  "  foolish  and  very  profane.  It  afflicted  me,"  lie  continues, 
"  to  see  how  the  stage  was  degenerated  and  polluted  by  the  licen- 
tious times." 

When  forming  part  of  the  audience,  by  invitation  of  the  Lord 
Chamberlain,  at  the  Court  plays,  at  Whitehall,  in  September, 
1666,  Evelyn  uses  as  freely  his  right  of  judgment.  He  sat  ill  at 
ease  in  the  public  theaties,  because  they  were  abused,  he  says, 
"  to  an  atheistical  liberty."  The  invitation  to  see  Lord  Broghill's 
"  Mustapha"  played  before  the  King  and  Queen,  in  presence  of  a 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.        177 

splendid  court,  was  a  command.  Evelyn  attended ;  but  as  he 
looked  around,  he  bethought  him  of  the  London  that  was  lying  in 
chan-ed  ruins,  and  he  sorrowingly  records  his  disapproval  of  "  any 
such  pastime  in  a  time  of  such  judgments  and  calamities."  With 
better  times  come  weaker  censures  on  these  amusements ;  and  the 
representation  of  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada,"  at  Whitehall,  in 
1671,  wins  his  admiration  for  the  "very  glorious  scenes  and  per- 
spectives, the  work  of  Mr.  Streeter,  who  well  understands  it."  In 
the  following  year,  although  not  frequenting  court  plays,  he  takes 
a  whole  bevy  of  maids  of  honor //'om  court  to  the  play.  Among 
them  was  one  of  whom  he  makes  especial  mention,  on  account  of 
her  many  and  extraordinary  virtues,  which  had  gained  his  especial 
esteem.  This  grave  maid,  among  the  too  vivacious  ladies  whom 
Evelyn  'squired  to  an  afternoon's  play,  was  Mistress  Blagg,  better 
known  to  us  from  Evelyn's  graceful  sketch  of  her  life,  as  Mrs 
Godolphin. 

Mrs.  Blagg  was  herself  not  the  less  a  lovely  actress  for  being  a 
discreet  and  virtuous  young  lady.  In  1675  Evelyn  saw  her  act 
in  Crowne's  masque-comedy,  "  Calisto,  or  the  Chaste  Nymph." 
His  friend  acted  in  a  noble  but  mixed  company — all  ladies — 
namely,  the  Ladies  Mary  and  Anne,  afterwards  Queens  of  England, 
the  Lady  Henrietta  Wentworth,  afterwards  the  evilly-impelled 
favorite  of  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  and  Miss  Jennings,  sub- 
sequently the  sharp-witted  wife  of  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
There  were  others  of  less  note,  with  professional  actresses  to  aid 
them,  while  a  corps  de  ballet  of  peers  and  nymphs  of  greater  or 
less  repute,  danced  between  the  acts.  For  the  piece,  or  for  the 
interludes,  Evelyn  had  less  admiration  than  he  had  for  Mrs. 
Blagg's  splendor.  She  had  about  her,  he  informs  us,  £20,000 
worth  of  jewels,  of  which  she  lost  one  worth  about  £80,  borrowed 
of  the  Countess  of  Suffolk.  "  The  press  was  so  great,"  he  adds, 
•'  that  it  is  a  wonder  she  lost  no  more ;"  and  the  intimation  that 
"The  Duke"  (of  York)' "made  it  good,"  shows  that  Mrs.  Blagg 
Avas  fortunate  in  possessing  the  esteem  of  that  not  too  liberal 
prince.  The  entire  stage  arrangements  at  AVhitehall  were  not  in- 
variably of  a  liberal  character,  and  the  audiences  must  have  had, 
on  some  occasions,  an  uncourtly  aspect ;  "  people  giving  money  to 


178  DORAN'S' ANNALS  OF  THE   STAGE. 

come  in,"  he  Avrites  in  this  same  year  1675,  "  wliich  was  very 
scandalous,  and  never  so  before  at  Court-diversions." 

Of  the  turbulence  of  audiences  in  those  days,  there  are  many 
evidences  on  record.  It  was  sometimes  provoked,  at  others 
altogether  unjustifiable,  and  always  more  savage  than  humorous. 
In  1669,  Mrs.  Corey  gratified  Lady  Castleraaine,  by  giving  an 
imitation  of  Lady  Harvey,  throughout  the  whole  of  the  part  of 
Sempronia,  in  "  Catiline's  Conspiracy."  Lady  Harvey,  much  ex- 
cited, had  influence  enough  with  her  brother,  Edward  Montagu, 
Lord  Chamberlain,  to  induce  him  to  lock  Mrs.  Corey  up,  for  her 
impertinence.  On  the  other  hand,  Lady  Castlemaine  had  still 
greater  influence  with  the  King ;  and  not  only  was  Mrs.  Corey  re- 
leased, but  she  was  "  ordered  to  act  it  again,  worse  than  ever." 
Doll  Common,  as  the  actress  was  called,  for  her  ability  in  playing 
that  part  in  the  "  Alchymist,"  repeated  the  imitation,  with  the  re- 
quired extravagance,  but  not  without  opposition ;  for  Lady  Har- 
vey had  hired  a  number  of  persons,  some  of  whom  hissed  Doll, 
while  others  pelted  her  with  fruit,  and  the  King  looked  on  the 
while,  amazed  at  the  contending  factions,  whose  quarrels  sub- 
sequently brought  him  much  weariness  in  the  settling. 

Then,  again,  much  disturbance  often  arose  from  noisy  financial 
squabbles.  It  was  the  custom  to  return  the  price  of  admission  to 
all  persons  who  left  the  theatre  before  the  close  of  the  first  act. 
Consequently,  many  shabby  persons  were  wont  to  force  their  way 
in  without  paying,  on  the  plea  that  they  did  not  intend  to  remain 
beyond  the  time  limited.  Thence  much  noisy  remonstrance  on 
the  part  of  the  door-keepers,  who  followed  them  into  the  house ; 
and  therewith  such  derangement  of  the  royal  comfort,  that  a 
special  decree  was  issued,  commanding  payment  to  be  made  on 
entering;  but  still  allowing  the  patron  of  the  drama  to  recover 
his  money,  if  he  withdrew  on  or  before  the  close  of  the  first  act. 

But  there  were  greater  scandals  than  these.  On  the  2d  of 
February,  1679,  there  is  a  really  awful  commotion,  and  imminent 
peril  to  house  and  audience,  at  the  Duke's  theatre.  The  King's 
French  favorite,  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth,  is  blazing  with 
rouge,  diamonds,  and  shamelessness,  in  the  most  conspicuous  seat 
in  the  house.  Some  tipsy  gentlemen  in  the  street  hard  by,  liear 
of  her  wit  and  handsome  presence,  and  the  morality  of  these 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.       179 

drunkards  is  straightway  incensed. '  Tlie  house  is  panic-stricken 
at  seeing  these  virtuous  Goths  rushing  into  the  pit,  with  drawn 
swords  in  one  hand, — fianiing,  smoking,  ill-sraelling  torches  in 
the  other ;  and  with  vituperative  cries  against  "  the  Duchess  of 
Portsmouth,  and  other  persons  of  honor."  The  rioters,  not 
satisfied  with  thrusting  their  rapiers  at  the  arras,  sides,  and  legs 
of  the  afi'righted  people  in  the  pit,  hurl  their  blazing  torches 
among  the  astounded  actors  on  the  stage !  A  panic  and  a  gen- 
eral flight  ensue.  The  house  is  saved  from  destruction ;  but  as  it 
is  necessary  to  punish  somebody,  the  King  satisfies  his  sense  of 
justice  by  pressing  hard  upon  the  innocent  actors,  and  shutting  up 
the  house  during  the  royal  pleasure  ! 

Much  liquor,  sharp  swords  and  angry  tempers,  combined  to  in- 
terrupt the  enjoyment  of  many  a  peaceful  audience.  An  angry 
word,  passed,  one  April  evening  of  1682,  between  Charles  Dering, 
the  son  of  Sir  Edward,  and  the  hot-blooded  young  Welshman, 
Mr.  Vaughan,  led  to  recrimination  and  sword  drawing.  The  two 
young  fellows,  not  having  elbow-room  in  the  pit,  clambered  on  to 
the  stage,  and  fought  there,  to  the  greater  comfort  of  the  audience, 
and  with  a  more  excited  fury  on  the  part  of  the  combatants.  The 
stage  was  that  of  the  Duke's  company,  then  playing  in  Dorset 
Gardens.  The  adversaries  fought  on,  till  Dering  got  a  thrust  from 
the  Welshman  which  stretched  him  on  the  boards ;  whereupon 
the  authorities  intervened,  as  there  was  no  more  mischief  to  be 
done,  and  put  Master  Vaughan  under  restraint,  till  Dering's  wound 
was  declared  not  to  be  mortal. 

The  'tiring  rooms  of  the  actresses  were  then  open  to  the  fine 
gentlemen  who  frequented  the  house.  They  stood  by  at  the 
mysteries  of  dressing,  and  commented  on  what  they  beheld  and 
did  not  behold,  with  such  breadth  and  coarseness  of  wit,  that  the 
more  modest,  or  least  impudent  ladies,  sent  away  their  little  hand- 
maidens. The  dressing  over,  the  amateurs  lounged  into  the 
house,  talked  loudly  with  the  pretty  orange  girls,  listened  when  it 
suited  them,  and  at  the  termination  of  the  piece  crowded  again 
into  the  'tiring  room  of  the  most  favorite  and  least  scrupulous  of 
the  actresses,  Amono;  these  gallants  who  thus  oscillated  between 
the  pit  and  the  dressing  bowers  of  the  ladies,  was  a  Sir  Hugh 
Middleton,  who  is  not  to  be  confounded  with  his  namesake  of  the 


180  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

New   River.     On  the  second    Saturday    of  Februaiy,  1607,   Sii 
Hugh  was  among  the  joyous  damsels  dressing  for  the  play,  be- 
hind the  stage  of  Old  Drury.     The  knight  was  so  unpleasantly 
critical  on  the  nymphs  before  him,  that  one  of  them,  sharp-tongued 
Beck  Marshall,  bade  him  keep  among  the  ladies  of  the  Diike's 
house,  since  he  did  not  approve  of  those  who  served  the  King. 
Sir  Huo-h  burst  out  with  a  threat,  that  he  would  kick,  or  what  was 
worse,    hire   his  footman  to  kick,   her.     The  pretty    but  angry 
Rebecca  nursed  her  wrath  all  Sunday ;  but  on  Monday  she  notified 
the  ungallant  outrage  to  the  great  champion  of  insulted  dames, 
the  King.     Nothing  immediately  came  of  it ;  and    on  Tuesday, 
there  was  Sir  Hugh,  glowering  at  her  from  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  waylaying  her  as  she  was  leaving  it  with  a  friend.     Sir  Hugh 
whispers  a  ruffianly-looking  fellow,  who  follows  the  actress,  and 
presses  upon  her  so  closely,  that  she  is  moved  by  a  double  fear, 
— that  he  is  about  to  rob,  and  perhaps  stab  her.     A  little  scream 
scares  the  bravo  for  a  minute  or  so.     He  skulks  away,  but  anon 
slinks  back ;  and,  armed  with  the  first  offensive  missile  he  could 
pick  up  in  a  Drury  Lane  gutter,  he  therewith  anoints  the  face 
and  hair  of  the  much  shocked  actress,  and  then,  like  the  valiant 
fellows  of  his  trade,  takes  to  his  heels.     The  next  day,  sweet  as 
Anadyomene  rising  from  the  sea,  the  actress  appeared  before  the 
King,  and  charged  Sir  Hugh  with  being  the  abettor  of  this  gross 
outrage.     How  the  knight  was  punished,  the  record  in  the  State 
Paper  office  does  not  say;  but  about  a   fortnight  later  a  royal 
decree  was  issued,  which  prohibited  gentlemen  from  entering  the 
'tiring  rooms  of  the  ladies  of  the  King's  theatre.    For  some  nights 
the  gallants  sat  ill  at  ease  among  the  audience ;  but  the  journals 
of  the  period  show  that  the  nymphs  must  have  been   as  little 
pleased  with  this  arrangement  as  the  fine  gentlemen  themselves, 
who  soon  found  their  way  back  to  pay  the  homage  of  flattery  to 
the  most  insatiable  of  goddesses. 

Not  that  all  the  homage  was  paid  to  the  latter.  The  wits  loved 
to  assemble,  after  the  pla}''  was  done,  in  the  dressing-rooms  of  the 
leading  actors  with  whom  they  most  cared  to  cultivate  an  inti- 
macy. Much  company  often  congregated  here,  generally  with  the 
purpose  of  assigning  meetings,  where  further  enjoyment  might  bo 
oursued. 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH    CENTURY.        ISl 

Then,  when  it  was  holiday  with  the  legislature,  the  lituise  was 
filled  with  parliament-men.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  Pcpys  re- 
cords, "how  a  gentleman  of  good  habit,  sitting  just  before  us, 
eating  of  some  fruit  in  the  midst  of  the  play,  did  drop  down  as 
dead ;  but,  with  much  ado,  Orange  Moll  did  thrust  her  finger 
down  his  throat,  and  brought  him  to  life  again."  This  was  an  in- 
cident of  the  year  16Q1. 

Returning  to  the  front  of  the  stage,  we  find  the  ladies  in  the 
boxes  subjected  to  the  audible  criticisms  of  "the  little  cockerells 
of  the  pit,"  as  Ravenscroft  calls  them,  with  whom  the  more  daring 
damsels  entered  into  a  smart  contest  of  repartees.  As  the  "  play- 
house "  was  then  the  refuge  of  all  idle  young  people,  these  wit- 
combats  were  listened  to  with  interest,  fi-om  the  town  fops  to  the 
rustic  young  squires  who  came  to  the  theatre  in  cordovant  gloves, 
and  were  quite  unconscious  of  poisoning  the  affected  fine  ladies 
with  the  smell  of  them.  The  poets  used  to  assert  that  all  the  wit 
of  the  pittites  was  stolen  from  the  plays  which  they  read  or  saw 
acted.  It  seemed  the  privilege  of  the  box-loungers  to  have  none, 
or  to  perform  other  services  ;  namely,  to  sit  all  the  evening  by  a 
mistress,  or  to  blaze  from  "  Fop's  corner,"  or  to  mark  the  modest 
women,  by  noting  those  who  did  not  use  their  fans  through  a 
whole  play,  nor  turn  aside  their  heads,  nor,  by  blushing,  discover 
more  guilt  than  modesty.  Thrice  happy  was  she  who  found  the 
greatest  number  of  slaves  at  the  door  of  her  box,  waiting  obsequi- 
ously to  hand  or  escort  her  to  her  chair.  These  beaux  were  hard 
to  fix,  so  erratic  were  they  in  their  habits.  They  ran,  as  Gatty 
pertinently  has  it,  "  from  one  play-house  to  the  other  play-house ; 
and  if  they  like  neither  the  play  nor  the  women,  they  seldom  stay 
any  longer  than  the  combing  of  their  perriwigs,  or  a  whisper  or 
two  with  a  friend,  and  then  they  cock  their  caps,  and  out  they 
strut  again."  With  fair  and  witty  strangers  these  gay  fellows, 
their  eye-brows  and  periwigs  redolent  of  the  essence  of  orange 
and  jasmine,  entered  into  conversation,  till  a  gentleman's  name, 
called  by  a  door-keeper  in  the  passage,  summoned  him  to  impa- 
tient companions,  waiting  for  him  outside  ;  when  he  left  the  "  cen- 
BQre  "  of  his  appearance  to  critical  observers,  like  those  who  ridi- 
culed the  man  of  mode,  for  "  his  gloves  drawn  up  to  his  elbowji 


182  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

and  his  perriwig  luorc  exactly  curled  than  a  lady's  head  newly 
dressed  for  a  ball." 

Of  the  vizard-masks,  Gibber  tells  the  whole  history,  in  a  few 
words :  "  I  remember  the  ladies  were  then  observed  to  be  decently 
afraid  of  venturing  bare-faced  to  a  new  comedy,  till  they  had  been 
assured  they  might  do  it  without  insult  to  their  modesty  ;  or,  if 
their  curiosity  were  too  strong  for  their  patience,  they  took  care 
at  least  to  save  appearances,  and  rarely  came  in  the  first  days  of 
acting  but  in  masks,  which  custom,  however,  had  so  many  ill  con- 
sequences attending  it,  that  it  has  been  abolished  these  many 
years." 

The  poets  sometimes  accused  the  ladies  of  blushing,  not  because 
of  offence,  but  from  constraint  on  laughter.  Farquhar's  Pindress 
says  to  Lucinda,  "Didn't  you  chide  me  for  not  putting  stronger 
laces   in   your   stays,  when    you   had  broken  one  as  strong  as  a 

hempen-cord  with  containing  a  violent  ti-hee  at  a jest  in  the 

last  play  ?" 

Gibber  describes  the  beaux  of  the  seventeenth  century  as  being 
of  quite  a  different  stamp  from  the  more  modern  sort.  The  for- 
mer had  more  of  the  stateliness  of  the  peacock  in  their  mien, 
whereas  the  latter  seemed  to  place  their  highest  emulation  in  imi- 
tating "  the  pert  air  of  a  lapwing."  The  greatest  possible  com- 
pliment was  paid  to  Gibber  by  the  handsome,  witty,  blooming 
young  fop,  Brett,  who  was  so  enchanted  with  the  wig  the  former 
wore  as  Sir  Novelty  Fashion,  in  "  Love's  Last  Shift,"  that  fancying 
the  wearing  it  might  insure  him  success  among  the  ladies,  he 
went  around  to  Gibber's  dressing-room,  and  entered  into  negotia- 
tions for  the  purchase  of  that  wonderful  cataract  periwig.  The 
fine  gentlemen  among  the  audience  had,  indeed,  the  credit  of  be- 
ing less  able  to  judge  of  a  play  than  of  a  peruke ;  and  Dryden 
speaks  of  an  individual  as  being  "  as  invincibly  ignorant  as  a 
town-sop  judging  of  a  new  play." 

Lord  Foppington,  in  1697,  did  not  pretend  to  be  a  beau;  but 
he  remarks,  "  a  man  must  endeavor  to  look  wholesome,  lest  he 
make  so  nauseous  a  figure  in  the  side-box,  the  ladies  should  be 
compelled  to  turn  their  eyes  upon  the  play."  It  was  the  "thing" 
to  look  upon  the  company,  unless  some  irresistible  attraction  drew 
attention  to  the  stage ;  and  the  curtam  down,  the  beau  became 


AUDIENCES   OF  THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.       183 

active  in  the  service  of  the  ladies  generally.  "  Till  nine  o'clock," 
says  Lord  Foppington,  "  I  amuse  myself  by  looking  on  the 
company,  and  usually  dispose  of  one  hour  more  in  leading  them 
out." 

Some  fine  gentlemen  were  unequal  to  such  gallantry.  At  these 
Southerne  glances  in  his  "  Sir  Anthony  Love,"  where  he  describes 
the  hard  drinkers  who  "  go  to  a  tavern  to  swallow  a  drunkenness, 
and  then  to  a  play,  to  talk  over  their  liquor."  And  these  had 
their  counterparts  in 

"the  youngsters  of  a  noisy  pit, 
Whose  tongues  and  mistresses  outran  their  wit." 

It  was,  however,  much  the  same  in  the  boxes,  where  the  beaux' 
oath  was  "  zauns,"  it  being  token  of  a  rustic  blasphemer  to  say 
"  zounds ;"  and  where,  though  a  country  squire  might  say,  "  bless 
us  !"  it  was  the  mark  of  a  man  of  fashion  to  cry,  "  dem  me !" 

With  such  personages  in  pit  and  boxes,  we  may  rest  satisfied 
that  there  was  a  public  to  match  in  the  gallery — a  peculiar  as  well 
as  a  general  public. 

A  line  in  a  prologue  of  the  year  1672,  "The  stinking  footman's 
sent  to  keep  your  places,"  alludes  to  a  custom  by  which  the  livery 
profited.  Towards  the  close  of  the  century,  the  upper  gallery  of 
Drury  Lane  was  opened  to  footmen,  gratis.  They  were  supposed 
to  be  in  attendance  on  their  masters,  but  these  rather  patronized 
the  other  house,  and  as  Drury  could  not  attract  the  nobility,  it 
courted  the  favor  of  their  not  very  humble  servants.  Previously, 
the  lacqueys  were  admitted  after  the  close  of  the  fourth  act  of  the 
play.  They  became  the  most  clamorous  critics  in  the  house.  It 
was  the  custom,  when  these  fellows  passed  the  money-taker,  to 
name  their  master,  who  was  supposed  to  be  in  the  boxes ;  but 
many  frauds  were  practised.  A  stalwart,  gold-laced,  thick-calved, 
irreverent  lacquey  swaggered  past  money  and  check-taker,  one  af- 
ternoon, and  named  "  the  Lord ,"  adding  the  name  which  tlie 

Jews  of  old  would  never  utter,  out  of  fear  and  reverence.     "  The 

Lord !"  said  the  money-taker  to  his  colleague,  after  the  saucy 

footman  had  flung  by,  "  who  is  he  ?"  "  Can't  say,"  was  the  re- 
ply ;  "  some  poor  Scotch  lord,  I  suppose  !"  Such  is  an  alleged 
sample  of  the  ignorance  and  the  blasphemy  of  the  period. 


184  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Returning  to  the  pit,  I  find,  v.'itli  tile  critics  and  other  good  men 
there,  a  sprinkling  of  clerical  gentlemen,  especially  of  chaplains ; 
their  patrons  perhaps  being  in  the  boxes.  In  the  papers  of  the 
d.ty,  in  the  year  1G97,  I  read  of  a  little  incident  which  illustrates 
social  matters,  and  which,  probably,  did  not  much  trouble  the  the- 
atrical cleric  who  went  to  the  pit  so  strangely  provided.  "  There 
was  found,"  says  the  paragraph,  "  in  the  pit  of  the  play-house, 
Drury  Lane,  Covent  Garden,  on  Whitsun  Eve,  a  qualification, 
signed  by  the  Right  Honorable  the  I^ord  Dartmouth  to  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Nicholson,  to  be  his  Chaplain  Extraordinary ;  the  said 
qualification  being  wrapped  up  in  a  black  tafFety  cap,  together  with 
a  bottle-screw,  a  knotting-needle,  and  a  ball  of  sky-color  and 
white  knotting.  If  the  said  Mr.  Nicholson  will  repair  to  the  pit- 
keeper's  house,  in  Vinegar  Yard,  at  the  Crooked  Billet,  he  shall 
have  the  movables  restored,  giving  a  reasonable  gratitude." 

Probably  Mr.  Nicholson  did  not  claim  his  qualification.  His 
patron  was  son  of  the  Lord  Dartmouth  who  corresponded  with 
James  II.  while  expressing  allegiance  to  William  HI.,  and  was 
subsequently  Queen  Anne's  Secretary  of  State,  and  the  annotator 
of  Burnet's  History  of  his  Own  Times. 

The  audiences  of  King  William's  time  were  quick  at  noticing 
and  applying  political  allusions ;  and  Government  looked  as  sharply 
after  the  dramatic  poets  as  it  did  after  the  Jacobite  plotters. 
When  much  intercourse  was  going  on  between  the  exiled  king  at 
St.  Germains  and  his  adherents  in  this  country,  a  Colonel  Mottley 
(of  whose  son,  as  a  dramatist,  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  in  a 
future  page)  was  sent  over  by  James  with  dispatches.  The  Earl 
of  Nottingham  laid  watch  for  him  at  the  Blue  Posts,  in  the  Hay- 
market,  but  the  Secretary's  officers  missed  the  Colonel,  seizing  in 
his  place  a  Cornish  gentleman,  named  Tredenhara,  who  was 
seated  in  a  room,  surrounded  by  papers,  and  waiting  for  the  Colo- 
nel. 

Tredenham  and  the  documents  were  conveyed  in  custody  before 
the  Earl,  to  whom  the  former  explained  that  he  was  a  poet,  sketching 
out  a  play,  that  the  papers  seized  formed  portions  of  the  piece,  and 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  plots  against  his  Majesty  de  facto. 
Daniel  Finch,  however,  was  as  careful  to  read  the  roughly-sketched 
play,  as  if  it  had  been  the  details  of  a  conspiracy ;  and  then  the 


AUDIENCES   OF   THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.     185 

author  was,  summoned  before  him.  "  Well,  Mr.  Tredeuhara," 
said  he,  "  I  have  perused  your  play,  and  heard  your  statement, 
and  as  I  can  find  no  trace  of  a  plot  in  either,  I  tliink  you  may 
go  free." 

The  sincerity  of  the  audiences  of  those  days  is  something 
doubtful,  if  that  be  true  which  Dryden  affirms,  that  he  observed 
namely,  that  "in  all  our  tragedies  the  audience  cannot  forbear  laugh- 
ing when  the  actors  are  to  die :  'tis  the  most  comic  part  of  the 
whole  play."  He  says  all  our  tragedies  ;  but  we  know  that  such 
was  not  the  case  when  the  heroes  of  Shakspeare,  represented  by 
Betterton,  Hart,  or  Harris,  suffered  mimic  dissolution,  and  it  is 
but  a  fjiir  suggestion  that  it  was  only  in  the  bombast  and  fustian 
tragedies,  in  which  death  was  the  climax  of  a  comic  situation, 
and  treated  bombastically,  that  tlie  audiences  were  moved  to 
laughter. 

Sincere  or  not,  the  i*esident  Londoners  were  great  playgoere, 
and  gadders  generally.  I  have  already  quoted  Bishop  Hackett 
on  this  matter.  Sermons  thus  testify  to  a  matter  of  fashion.  It 
appears  from  a  play,  Dryden's  "  Sir  Martin  Marall,"  that  if  Lon- 
doners were  the  permanent  patrons,  the  country  "  quaUty"  looked 
for  an  annual  visit.  At  the  present  time  it  is  th«  visitors  and  not 
the  residents  in  London  who  most  frequent  the  theatre.  "  I  came 
up,  as  we  country  gentlewomen  use,  at  an  Easter  Term,  to  the 
destruction  of  tarts  and  cheesecakes,  to  see  a  new  play,  buy  a 
new  gown,  take  a  turn  in  the  park,  and  so  down  again  to  sleep 
with  my  forefathers." 

This  resort  to  the  theatres  displeased  better  men  than  non- 
juring  Collier.  Mirthful-minded  South,  he  who  preached  to  the 
Merchant  Tailors  of  the  remnant  that  should  be  saved,  calls  thea- 
tres "  those  spiritual  pest-houses,  where  scarce  any  thing  is  to  be 
heard  or  seen  but  what  tends  to  the  corruption  of  good  manners, 
and  from  whence  not  one  of  a  thousand  returns,  but,  infected  with 
the  love  of  vice,  or  at  least  with  the  hatred  of  it  very  much  abated 
from  what  it  was  before.  And  that,  I  assure  you,  is  no  inconsid- 
erable point  gained  by  the  tempter,  as  those  who  have  any  experi- 
ence of  their  own  heart  sufficiently  know.  He  who  has  no  mind 
to  trade  with  the  devil,  should  be  so  wise  as  to  keep  away  from 
his  shop."     South  objects  to  a  corrupt, not  to  a  "  well-bred  stage." 


186  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Yet  South,  like  Collier  later,  laid  to  the  scene  mucli  of  the  sin 
of  the  age. 

If  we  were  to  judge  of  the  character  of  women  by  the  come- 
dies of  the  last  half  of  the  seventeenth  century,  we  might  conclude 
that  they  were  all,  without  exception,  either  constantly  at  the 
play,  or  constantly  wishing  to  be  there.  But  the  Marquis  of  Hali- 
fax, in  his  Advice  to  a  Daughter,  shows  that  they  were  only  a 
class.  "  Some  ladies,"  he  says,  "  are  bespoke  for  merry  meetings, 
as  Bessus  was  for  duels.  They  are  engaged  in  a  circle  of  idleness, 
where  they  turn  round,  for  the  whole  year,  without  the  interruption 
of  a  serious  hour.  They  know  all  the  players'  names,  and  are  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  all  the  booths  at  Bartholomew  Fair.  The 
spring,  that  bringeth  out  Flies  and  Fools,  maketh  them  inhabitants 
of  Hyde  Park.  In  the  winter,  they  are  an  encumbrance  to  the 
play-house,  and  the  ballast  of  the  drawing-room." 

We  may  learn  how  the  play-house,  encumbered  by  the  fast 
ladies  of  by-gone  years,  stood,  and  what  were  the  prospects  of  the 
stage  at  this  time,  by  looking  into  a  private  epistle.  A  few  lines 
in  a  letter  from  "  Mr.  Vanbrook"  (afterwards  Sir  John  Vanbragh) 
to  the  Earl  of  Manchester,  and  written  on  Christmas  Day,  1699, 
will  show  the  position  and  hopes  of  the  stage,  as  that  century  was 
closing.  "  Miss  Evans,"  he  writes,  "  the  dancer  at  the  new  play- 
house, is  dead  ;  a  fever  slew  her  in  eight  and  forty  hours.  She's 
much  lamented  by  the  town,  as  well  as  by  the  house,  who  can't 
well  bear  her  loss ;  matters  running  very  low  with  'em  this  winter. 
If  Congreve's  play  don't  help  'em  they  are  undone.  'Tis  a  com- 
edy, and  will  be  played  about  six  weeks  hence.  Nobody  has  seen 
it  yet."  The  same  letter  informs  us  that  Dick  Leveridge,  the  bass 
singer  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  Theatre,  was  tarrying  in  Ireland, 
rather  than  face  his  creditors  in  England,  and  that  Doggett  (of 
whom  there  is  no  account  during  the  years  1698,  1699,  lYOO) 
had  been  playing  for  a  week  at  the  above  theatre,  for  the  sura  of 
£30  !  This  is  the  fii-st  instance  I  know  of,  of  the  "  starring"  sys- 
tem ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  the  above  sum  should  have  been 
given  for  six  nights'  performances,  when  Betterton's  salary  did 
not  exceed  £5  per  week. 

The  century  closed  ill  for  the  stage.  Congreve's  play, '*  The 
Way  of  the  World,"  failed  to  give  it  any  lustre.     Dancers,  turn- 


AUDIENCES  OF  THE   SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY.       187 

blcrs,  strong  men,  and  quadrupeds,  were  called  in  to  attract  tlie 
town;  and  tbe  Elephant  at  the  Great  Mogul  in  Fleet  Stieet 
"  drew"  to  such  an  extent  that  he  would  have  been  brought  upon 
the  stage  but  for  the  opinion  of  a  master-carpenter  that  he  would 
pull  the  house  down.  There  was  an  empty  treasury  at  both  the 
theatres.  There  was  iiiia-'tnagement  at  one,  and  ill-health  (the 
declining  health  of  Betterton)  to  mar  the  otuer.  And  so  closes 
the  half  century. 


188  doban's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A    SEVEN    YEARS     RIVALRY. 


The  great  players,  by  giving  action  to  the  poet's  words,  illus- 
trated the  quaintly-expressed  idea  of  the  sweet  singer  who  says  : 

"  What  Thought  can  think  another  Thou,^ht  can  mend." 

Nevertheless,  the  theatres  had  not  proved  profitable.  The  pub- 
lic greeted  acrobats  with  louder  acclaim  than  any  poet.  King 
William  cared  more  to  see  the  feats  of  Kentish  Patagonians  than 
to  listen  to  Shakspeare  ;  and,  for  a  time,  Doggett,  by  creating 
laughter,  reaped  more  glittering  reward  than  Betterton,  by  draw- 
ing tears.  The  first  season,  however,  of  the  eighteenth  century 
was  commenced  with  great  spirit.  Drury  Lane  opened  with  Gib- 
ber's "  Love  Makes  a  Man,"  an  adaptation  from  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher.  Gibber  was  the  Clodio  ;  Wilks,  Garlos ;  and  Mrs.  Ver- 
bruggen,  Louisa.  Five  other  new  pieces  were  produced  in  this 
brief  season.  This  was  followed  by  the  "  Humor  of  the  Age,"  a 
dull  comedy,  by  Baker,  who  generally  gave  his  audience  some- 
thing to  laugh  at,  and  showed  some  originality  in  more  than  one 
of  his  five  pieces.  He  was  an  attorney's  son,  and  an  Oxford  Uni- 
versity man ;  but  he  took  to  writing  for  the  stage,  had  an  ephem- 
eral success,  and  died  early,  in  worse  plight  than  any  author,  even 
in  the  days  when  authors  occasionally  died  in  evil  condition.  The 
third  novelty  was  Settle's  mad  operatic  tragedy,  the  "  Siege  of 
Troy,"  with  a  procession  in  which  figured  six  white  elephants 
Griffin  returned  to  the  stage  from  the  army,  with  "  Gaptain"  at- 
tached to  his  name,  and  plaved  Ulysses.  The  dulncss  and  gran- 
deur of  Settle's  piece  were  hardly  relieved  by  Farquhar's  sequt;! 
to  his  "  Constant  Gouple,"  "  Sir  Harry  Wildair."  The  reputation 
of  the  former  piece  secured  for  the  latter  a  run  of  nine  nights,  so 
were  successes  calculated  in  those  early  days.     Wilks  laid  down 


A.   SEVEN   YEAES'   RIVALRY.  189 

Sir  Harry  to  enact  the  distresses  of  Lorraine,  in  Mrs.' Ti'otter's  new 
play,  "  The  Unhappy  Penitent,"  which  gave  way  in  turn  for  Dur- 
fey's  intriguing  comedy,  "  Tlie  Bath,  or  the  Western  Lass,"  in 
which  Mrs.  Verbruggen's  "  GiUian  Homebred,"  made  her  the  dar- 
ling of  the  town. 

In  the  same  season,  the  company  at  Lincohi's  Lin  Fields  pro- 
duced a  Uke  number  of  new  pieces.  Li  the  first,  the  "  Double 
Distress,"  Booth,  Verbruggen,  Mrs.  Barry,  and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle 
wasted  their  talents.  Mrs.  Fix,  the  author,  having  failed  in  this 
mixture  of  rhyme  and  blank  verse,  failed  in  a  greater  degree  in 
her  next  play  in  prose,  the  "  Czar  of  Muscovy."  Booth  and  Mrs. 
Barry  could  do  nothing  with  such  materials.  The  masters  forth- 
with enacted  the  "Lady's  Visiting  Day,"  by  Burnaby.  In  this 
comedy  Betterton  played  the  gallant  lover,  Courtine,  to  the  Lady 
Lovetoy  of  Mrs.  Barry.  The  lady  here  would  only  marry  a 
prince.  Courtine  wins  her  as  Prince  Alexander  of  Muscovy  :  and 
the  audience  laughed  as  they  recognized  therein  the  incident  of 
the  merry  Lord  Montagu  wooing  the  mad  Duchess,  Dowager  of 
Albemarle,  as  the  Empress  of  China,  and  marrying  her  under  that 
very  magnificent  dignity,  to  any  inferior  to  which  the  Duchess 
had  declared  she  would  not  stoop. 

The  hilarity  of  the  public  was  next  challenged  by  the  produc- 
tion of  Granville  (Lord  Lansdowne's)  "Jew  of  Venice," — "im- 
proved" from  Shakspeare,  who  Avas  described  as  having  furnished 
the  rude  sketches  which  had  been  amended  and  adorned  by 
Granville's  new  master-strokes ! 

Gildon's  dull  piece  of  Druidism,  "  Love's  Victim,  or  the  Queen 
of  Wales,"  appeared  and  failed,  notwithstanding  its  wonderful 
cast ;  but  Corye's  "  Cure  for  Jealousy"  brought  the  list  of  novelties 
merrily  to  a  close ;  for  though  the  audience  saw  no  fun  in  it,  they 
did  in  the  anger  of  the  author — a  little  man,  with  a  whistle  of  a 
voice,  who  abandoned  the  law  for  the  stage,  and  was  as  weak  an 
actor  as  he  was  an  author.  He  attributed  his  fiiilure  to  the  absurd 
admiration  of  the  public  for  Farquhar.  He  was  absurd  enough  to 
say  so  in  print,  and  to  speak  contemptuously  of  poor  George's 
"Jubilee  Farce."  In  those  wicked  days,  literary  men  loved  not 
each  other ! 

In    1V02,  the  Drury   Lane  company    brought  out  eight  new 


190  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

pieces,  and  worked  indefatigably.  They  commenced  with  Dennis'i* 
"  Comical  Gallant," — an  "  improved"  edition  of  Shakspeare'a 
"  Merry  Wives,"  in  which  Powell  made  but  a  sorry  Falstaff.  Thi.i 
piece  gave  way  t#  one  entirely  original,  and  very  much  duller,  the 
'  Generous  Conqueror,"  of  the  ex-fugitive  Jacobite,  Bevil  Higgons. 
In  this  poor  play,  Bevil  illustrated  the  right  divine  and  impecca- 
bility of  his  late  liege  sovereign,  King  James ;  denounced  the 
Revolution,  by  implication ;  did  in  his  only  play  what  Dr.  Sache- 
verell  did  in  the  pulpit,  and  made  even  his  fellow-Jacobites  laugh 
by  his  bouncing  line,  "  The  gods  and  god-like  kings  can  do  no 
wrong." 

Laughter  more  genuine  might  have  been  expected  from  the 
next  novelty,  Farquhar's  "  Inconstant ;"  but  that  clever  adaptation 
of  Fletcher's  "  Wild-Goose  Chase,"  with  Wilks  for  young  Mirabel, 
did  not  affect  the  town  so  hilariously  as  I  have  seen  it  do  when 
Charles  Kemble  gracefully,  but  somewhat  too  demonstratively, 
enacted  the  part  of  that  gay,  silly,  but  lucky  gentleman.  Still  less 
pleased  were  the  public  with  the  next  play,  tossed  up  for  them  in 
a  month,  and  condemned  in  a  night,  Burnaby's  "  Modish  Hus- 
band." Of  course,  this  husband,  Lord  Promise,  is  a  man  who 
loves  his  neighbor's  wife,  and  cares  not  who  loves  his  own.  An 
honest  man  in  this  comedy.  Sir  Lively  Cringe,  does  not  think  ill 
of  married  women,  and  he  is  made  a  buffoon  and  more,  accord- 
ingly. When  Lady  Cringe, in  the  dark,  holds  her  lover  Lionel 
with  one  hand,  her  husband  with  the  other,  and  declares  that  her 
fingers  are  locked  with  those  of  the  man  she  loves  best  in  the 
world,  Sir  Lively  believes  her.  In  this  wise  did  the  stage  hold  the 
mirror  up  to  nature,  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  century. 

Not  more  edifying  nor  much  more  successful  was  Vanbrugh'a 
"  False  Friend,"  a  comedy  in  which  there  is  a  murder  enacted  be- 
fore the  audience  !  What  the  house  lost  by  it  was  fully  made  up 
by  the  unequivocal  success  of  the  next  new  piece,  the  "  Funeral, 
or  Grief  a  la  Mode."  The  author  was  then  six  and  twenty  years 
of  age ;  this  was  his  first  piece,  and  his  name  Avas  Steele.  All 
that  was  known  of  him  then  was,  that  he  was  a  native  of  Dublin, 
had  been  fellow -pupil  at  the  Charter  House  with  Addison,  had 
left  the  University  without  a  degree,  and  was  said  to  have  lost  the 
succession  to  an  estate  in  Wexford  by  enlisting  as  '^'^  a,  private  gen- 


A   SEVEN   years'    RIVALRY.  191 

tleman  in  the  Horse  Guards ;"  a  phrase  significant  enough,  as  the 
proper  designation  of  that  body,  at  this  day,  is  "  Gentlemen  of  her 
Majesty's  Royal  Horse  Guards."  He  was  the  wildest  and  wittiest 
young  dog  about  down,  when  in  1701  he  published,  with  a  dedi- 
cation to  Lord  Cutts,  to  whom  he  had  been  private  secretary,  and 
through  whom  he  had  been  appointed  to  a  company  in  Lord 
Lucas's  Fusiliers,  his  Christian  Hero,  a  treatise  in  which  he 
showed  what  he  was  not,  by  showing  what  a  man  ought  to  be.  It 
brought  the  poor  fellow  into  incessant  perplexity,  and  even  peril. 
Some  thought  him  a  hypocrite,  others  provoked  him  as  a  coward, 
all  measured  his  sayings  and  doings  by  his  maxims  in  his  Chris- 
tian Hero,  and  Dick  Steele  was  suffering  in  the  regard  of  the  town, 
when  he  resolved  to  redeem  the  character  which  he  could  not 
keep  up  to  the  level  of  his  religious  hero,  by  composing  a  comedy  .' 
He  thoroughly  succeeded,  and  there  were  troopers  enough  in  the 
house  to  have  beat  the  rest  of  the  audience  into  shouting  appro- 
bation, had  they  not  been  well  inclined  to  do  so,  spontaneously.  The 
"Funeral"  is  the  merriest  and  the  most  perfect  of  Steele's  com- 
edies. The  characters  are  strongly  marked,  the  wit  genial,  and 
not  indecent.  Steele  was  among  the  first  who  set  about  reform- 
ing the  licentiousness  of  the  old  comedy.  His  satire  in  the  "  Fu- 
neral" is  not  against  virtue,  but  vice  and  silliness.  When  the  two 
lively  ladies  in  widow's  weeds  meet,  Steele's  classical  memory 
served  him  with  a  good  illustration.  "  I  protest,  I  wonder,"  says 
Lady  Brampton  (Mrs.  Verbruggen),  "how  two  of  us  thus  clad 
can  meet  with  a  grave  face."  The  most  genuine  humor  in  the 
piece  was  that  applied  against  lawyers ;  but  more  especially  in  the 
satire  against  undertakers,  and  all  their  mockery  of  woe.  Take 
the  scene  in  which  Sable  (Johnson)  is  giving  instructions  to  his 
men,  and  reviewing  them  the  while  : — "  Ha,  you're  a  little  mere 
upon  the  dismal.  This  fellow  has  a  good  mortal  look — place  hira 
near  the  corpse.  That  wainscot-face  must  be  a-top  o'  the  stairs. 
That  fellow's  almost  in  a  fright,  that  looks  as  if  he  were  full  of 
some  strange  inisery,  at  the  end  o'  the  hall !  So  ! — But  I'll  fix 
you  all  myself  Let's  have  no  laughing  now,  on  any  provocation. 
Look  yonder  at  that  hale,  well-looking  puppy  !  You  ungrateful 
scoundrel,  didn't  I  pity  you,  take  you  out  of  a  great  man's  service, 
and  show  you  the  pleasure  of  receiving  wages?    Didn't  I  give  you 


192  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ten,  then  fifteen,  then  twenty  shiUings  a  week,  to  be  sorrowful ! 
And  the  more  I  (jive  you  the  gladder  you  are  P''  This  sort  of 
humor  was  new,  no  wonder  it  made  a  sensation.  Steele  became 
the  spoiled  child  of  the  town.  "  Nothing,"  said  he,  "ever  makes 
the  town  so  fond  of  a  man  as  a  successful  play."  Old  Sunderland 
and  younger  Halifax  patronized  Steele  for  his  own,  and  for  Ad« 
ilison's  sake;  and  the  author  of  the  new  comedy  received  the  ap- 
pointment of  Writer  of  the  Gazette. 

After  a  closing  of  the  houses  during  Bartholomew  Fair,  the 
Drury  Lane  Company  met  again ;  and  again  won  the  town  by 
Gibber's  "  She  Would  and  She  Would  Not"  This  excellent  com- 
edy contrasts  well  with  the  same  author's  also  admirable  comedy, 
the  "  Careless  Husband."  In  the  latter  there  is  much  talk  of 
action ;  in  the  former  there  is  much  action  during  very  good  talk. 
There  is  much  fun,  little  vulgarity,  sharp  epigrams  on  the  manners 
and  morals  of  the  times,  good  humored  satire  against  popery,  and 
a  succession  of  incidents  which  never  flags  fi-om  the  rise  to  the  fall 
of  the  curtain.  The  plot  may  be  not  altogether  original,  and 
there  is  an  occasional  incorrectness  in  the  local  color ;  but  taken 
as  a  whole,  it  is  a  very  amusing  comedy,  and  it  kept  the  stage 
even  longer  than  Steele's  "  Funeral." 

Far  less  successful  was  Drury  with  the  last  and  eighth  new  play  of 
this  season,  Farquhar's  "  Twin  Rivals,"  for  the  copyright  of  which 
the  author  received  £15  6s.  from  Tonson.  Farquhar,  perhaps, 
took  more  pains  with  this  than  with  any  of  his  plays,  and  has  re- 
ceived praise  in  return ;  but  after  Steele  and  Cibber's  comedies, 
the  "  Twin  Rivals"  had  only  what  the  French  call  a  succes  d'es- 
time. 

To  the  eight  pieces  of  Drury,  Lincoln's  Lin  opposed  half  a  doz- 
en, only  one  of  which  has  come  down  to  our  times,  namely, 
Rowe's  "  Tamerlane,"  with  which  the  company  opened  the  season  : 
— Tamerlane,  Betterton  ;  Bajazet,  Verbruggen  ;  Axalla,  Booth  ; 
Aspasia,  Mrs.  Barry.  In  this  piece,  Rowe  left  sacred  for  profane 
history,  and  made  his  tragedy  so  politically  allusive  to  Louis 
XIV.  in  the  character  of  Bajazet,  and  to  William  III.  in  Tamer- 
lane, that  it  was  for  many  years  represented  at  each  theatre  on 
every  recurring  4th  and  5th  of  November,  the  anniversary  of  the 
birth  and  of  the  landing  of  King  William.     In  Dublin,  the  anni- 


A  SEVEN   YEaRS'   EIVALRY.  1D3 

versary  of  the  gi'eat  delivery  from  "  Popery  and  wooden  shoes," 
was  marked  by  a  piece  of  gallantry  on  the  part  of  the  Lord  Lieu- 
tenant, or,  in  his  absence,  the  Lords  Justices — namely,  by  arrange- 
ment with  the  manager,  admission  to  the  boxes  was  free  to 
every  lady  disposed  to  honor  the  theatre  with  her  presence  ! 

Rowe  has  made  a  virtuous  hero  of  Tamerlane,  without  at  all 
causing  him  to  resemble  William  of  Orange ;  but,  irrespective  of 
this,  there  is  life  in  this  tragedy,  which,  with  some  of  the  bluster 
of  the  old,  had  some  of  the  sentiment  of  the  new  school.  In  1746, 
when  the  Scottish  Rebellion  had  been  entirely  suppressed,  it  was 
acted  on  the  above  anniversaries  with  much  attendant  enthusiasm, 
Mrs.  Pritchard  speaking  an  epilogue  written  for  the  occasion  by 
Horace  Walpole,  and  licensed  by  the  Chamberlain,  the  Duke  of 
Grafton,  notwithstanding  a  compliment  to  his  Grace,  which  Walpole 
thought  might  induce  the  Duke,  out  of  sheer  modesty,  to  with- 
hold his  official  sanction,  Tamerlane  has  been  a  favorite  part 
with  many  actors.  Lady  Morgan's  father,  Mr.  Owenson,  made 
his  first  appearance  in  it,  under  Garrick's  rule ;  but  a  Tamerlane 
with  a  strong  L'ish  brogue  and  comic  redundant  action  created 
different  sensations  from  those  intended  by  the  author,  and 
though  the  audience  did  not  hiss,  they  laughed  abundantly. 

To  "  Tamerlane"  succeeded  "  Antiochus  the  Great,"  a  tragedy 
full  of  the  old  love,  bombast,  and  murder.  The  author  was  a  Mrs. 
Jane  Wiseman,  who  was  a  servant  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Wright, 
of  Oxford,  where,  having  filled  her  mind  with  plays  and  romances, 
she  wrote  this  hyper-romantic  play,  and  having  married  a  well-to- 
do  Westminster  vintner,  named  Holt,  she  succeeded  in  seeing  it 
fail,  as  it  well  deserved  to  do. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  king-killing  in  the  plebeian  lady's  tragedy 
required  some  counter-action,  and  accordingly,  Lord  Orrery's  post- 
-  humous  play  of  "  Altemira"  was  next  brought  forward.  There  is 
a  true  king  and  also  a  usurper  in  this  roaring  yet  sentimental 
tragedy,  in  whom  Whigs  and  Tories  might  recognize  the  sover- 
eigns whom  they  respectively  adored.  One  monarch  himself 
complacently  remarks : — 

"  Wliatever  crimes  are  acted  for  a  crown. 
The  goda  forgive,  when  once  that  crown's  put  on." 

To  touch  the  Lord's  anointed  is  an  unpardonable  sin ;  but  if 
Vol.  I.— 9 


194  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  Whigs  were  rendered  uneasy  by  this  sentiment,  they  prcbably 
found  comfort  in  the  speech  wherein  Clerimont  (Betterton),  while 
owning  respect  for  the  deprived  monarch,  confesses  the  fitness  of 
being  loyal  to  the  one  who  displaced  him. 

To  these  three  tragedies  succeeded  three  now-forgotten  come- 
dies, "  The  Gentleman  Cully,"  in  which  Booth  fooled  it  to  the  top 
of  his  bent,  in  the  only  English  comedy  which  ends  without  a 
marriage.  The  "  Beaux'  Duel,"  and  the  "  Stolen  Heiress,"  two  of 
Mrs.  Carroll's  (she  had  not  yet  become  Mrs.  Centlivre)  bolder 
plagiarisms  from  old  dramatists,  brought  the  Lincoln's  Inn  season 
to  a  close. 

In  the  season  of  1703  Drury  Lane  produced  seven,  and  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields  six,  pieces.  The  first,  at  Drury,  was  Baker's 
"  Tunbridge  Walks,"  the  manners  of  which  smack  of  the  old 
loose  times.  Then  came  Durfey's  "  Old  Mode  and  the  New,"  a 
long,  dull,  satirical  comedy,  on  the  fashions  of  Elizabeth's  days 
and  those  of  Anne.  Durfey  was  then  at  his  twenty-eighth  come- 
dy, and  in  the  decline  of  his  powers.  Little  flourished  about  him 
save  that  terrific  beak  which  served  for  a  nose,  and  also  for  an  ex- 
cuse for  his  dislike  to  have  his  hkeness  taken.  In  other  respects, 
the  wit,  on  whose  shoulder  Charles  had  leaned,  to  whose  songs 
William  had  listened,  and  at  them  Anne  even  then  laughed,  was 
in  vogue,  but  not  with  the  theatrical  public. 

A  new  author  had  tempted  that  public,  in  April,  with  a  come- 
dy, entitled  "  Fair  Example,  or  the  Modish  Citizens,"  by  Estcourt, 
a  strolling  player,  but  soon  afterwards  a  clever  actor  in  this  com- 
pany, a  man  whom  Addison  praised,  and  a  good  fellow,  whom 
Steele  admired.  His  career  had,  hitherto,  been  a  strange  one. 
He  ran  away  from  a  respectable  home  in  Tewkesbury,  when 
fifteen,  to  play  Roxalana  with  some  itinerants,  and  fled  from  the 
company,  on  being  pursued  thither  by  his  friends,  in  the  dresa 
lent  him  by  a  kind-hearted  girl  of  the  troop.  In  this  dress,  Est- 
court  made  his  way  on  foot  to  Chipping  Norton,  at  the  inn  of 
which  place  the  weary  supposed  damsel  was  invited  to  share  the 
room  of  the  landlord's  daughter.  Then  ensued  a  scene  as  comic 
as  any  ever  invented  by  dramatist,  but  from  which  the  parties 
came  oft"  with  some  perplexity,  and  no  loss  of  honor.  The  young 
runaway  was  caught  and  sent  home,  and  thence  he  was  dispatched 


A  SEVEN    years"    KIVALRY.  195 

to  Hatton  Garden,  and  bound  by  articles  to  learn  there  the 
apothecary's  mystery.  It  is  not  known  when  he  broke  from 
these  bonds ;  but  it  is  certain  that  he  again — some  say  after  he 
liad  himself  failed  in  the  practice  of  the  mystery  he  had  painfully 
learned,  took  to  the  joys  and  sorrows,  trials,  triumphs,  and 
temptations  of  a  wandering  player's  life  till  1698,  or  about  that 
period,  when  he  appeared  in  Dublin,  with  success.  He  was  be- 
tween thirty  and  forty  years  of  age  when  he  came  to  London 
with  the  "  Fair  Example,"  an  adaptation,  like  the  "  Confederacy," 
of  Dancour's  "  Modish  Citizens,"  but  not  destined  to  an  equal  suc- 
cess, despite  the  acting  of  Gibber  and  Norris,  and  that  brilliant 
triad  of  ladies,  Verbruggen,  Oldfield,  and  Powell.  In  June,  Mrs. 
Carroll  served  up  Moliere's  "  Medecin  malgre  lui,"  in  the  cold  dish 
called  "  Love's  Contrivance ;"  and,  in  the  same  month,  Wilkinson 
and  his  sole  comedy,  "  Vice  Reclaimed,"  appeared ;  and  are  now 
forgotten. 

Next,  Manning  tried  the  judgment  of  the  town  with  his  "  All 
for  the  Better,"  a  comedy,  of  triple  plots, — stolen  from  old  writers. 
Manning  resembled  Steele  only  in  leaving  the  University  without 
a  degree.  If  Steele  obtained  a  Government  appointment  after  his 
dramatic  success,  Manning  acquired  a  better  after  his  failure.  He 
was  first,  Secretary  to  our  Legation  in  Switzerland ;  and,  secondly, 
Envoy  to  the  Cantons ;  and  was  about  as  respectable  in  diplomacy 
as  in  the  drama. 

Gildon's  play  of  the  "  Patriot,  or  the  Italian  Conspiracy,"  the 
last  produced  this  year,  with  Mills  as  Cosmo  de  Medici,  and 
Wilks  as  his  son  Julio,  merits  notice  only  as  an  instance  of  the 
mania  for  reconstructing  accepted  stories.  Gildon,  towards  the 
close  of  his  wayward  and  silly  career,  transmuted  Lee's  ancient 
Roman  "  Lucius  Junius  Brutus"  into  the  modern  Italian  "  Patriot." 
The  public  consigned  it  to  oblivion. 

During  this  season,  when  "  Macbeth"  was  the  only  one  of  Shaks- 
peare's  plays  performed,  the  theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens  was  pre- 
pared for  opera ;  and  in  the  summer  the  company  followed  Quecu 
Anne  to  Bath,  by  command ;  but  there  went  not  with  them  the 
most  brilliant  actress  of  light  comedy  that  the  two  centuries  had 
hitherto  seen,  Mrs.  Verbruggen,  that  sparkling  Mrs.  Mountfort 
whose  father,  Mr.  Perceval,  was  condemned  to  death  for  treason 


196  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

against  King  William,  on  tlio  day  her  luisband  was  murdered  by 
Lord  Mohun !  The  Jacohite  father  was,  however,  pardoned. 
Mrs.  Mountfort,  or  Verbriiggen,  left  a  successor  equal,  perhaps 
superior,  to  herself,  in  Mrs.  Oldtield. 

The  season  of  1703,  at  Lincoln's  Liu  Fields,  was  distinguished 
b\  the  success  of  Rowe's  "  Fair  Penitent," — the  one  great  triumph 

•  f  the  year.     The  other  novelties  require  only  to  be   recorded. 

riiat  most  virulent  and  unscrupulous  of  Whig  partisan-writers, 
Uldmixon,  opened  the  season  with  his  third  and  last  dramatic 
essay,  the  "  Governor  of  Cyprus,"  supported  by  Bctterton,  Booth, 
Powell,  and  Mrs.  Barry.  Oldmixon  was  a  poor  dramatist,  but  he 
made  a  tolerable  excise  officer, — a  post  which  he  acquired  by  his 
party-writings.  He  would  not,  however,  be  remembered  now, 
but  for  the  pre-eminence  for  dirt  and  dulness  which  Pope  has 
awarded  him  in  the  D unclad.  The  entire  strength  of  the  com- 
pany, Betterton  excepted,  was  wasted  on  the  comedies, — "  Dif- 
ferent Widows,"  by  a  judicious,  anonymous  author;  "Love  Be- 
trayed," Burnaby's  last  of  a  poor  four;  and  that  a  marring  of 
Shakspeare's  "  Twelfth  Night,"  and  "  As  You  find  It"  (for  Mrs. 
Porter's  benefit,  in  April).  This  was  the  only  play  written  by 
Charles  Boyle,  grandson  of  the  dramatist  Earl  of  Orrery,  to  which 
title  he  succeeded,  four  months  after  his  comedy  (the  dullest  in 
the  English  language)  had  failed.  Boyle  may  have  been  a  worthy 
antagonist  of  Bentley,  touching  the  genuineness  of  the  "  Epistles 
of  Phalaris ;"  but  he  could  not  vie  with  such  Avriters  of  comedy  as 
Cibber,  Farquhar,  and  Steele.  The  production  of  the  "  Fickle 
Shepherdess," — a  ruthless  handling  of  Randolph's  fine  pastoral, 
"  Amyntas," — pleased  but  for  a  few  nights,  though  every  woman 
of  note  in  the  company,  and  all  beautiful,  played  in  it, — making 
love  to,  or  prettily  sighing  at,  or  as  prettily  sulking  with,  each 
other.  The  great  event  of  the  season  was,  undoubtedly,  the 
"  Fair  Penitent :"  Lothario,  Powell ;  Horatio,  Betterton  ;  Altaraont, 
Verbruggen;  Calista,  Mrs.  Barry;  Lavinia,  ilrs.  Braccgirdle. 

Rowe  had,  in  his  "  Tamerlane,"  thundered,  after  the  manner  of 
Dryden ;  had  tried  to  be  as  pathetic  as  Otway,  and  had  employed 
some  of  the  bombast  of  Lee.  J>ut  he  lacked  strength  to  make 
either  of  the  heroes  of  that  resonant  tragedy,  vigorous.  In  de- 
voting himself,  henceforth,  to  illustrate  the  woes  and  weaknesses 


A   SEVEN   YEAKS"    KIVALRY.  197 

of  heroines,  he  discovered  where  his  real  powers  lay ;  and  Calista 
is  one  of  the  most  successful  of  his  portraitures.  There  is  gross 
and  unavowed  plagiarism  from  Massiiiger's  "  Fatal  Dowry,"  but 
there  is  a  greater  purity  of  sentiment  in  Rowe,  who  leaves,  how- 
ever, much  room  for  improvement  iu  that  respect,  by  his  success- 
ors, Richardson  saw  this,  when  he  made  of  his  Lovelace  a 
somewhat  purified  Lothario.  Rowe.  however,  notwithstanding  the 
weak  point  in  his  Fair  Penitent,  who  is  more  angry  at  being  found 
out,  than  sorry  for  what  has  happened,  has  been  eminently  suc- 
cessful ;  for  all  the  sympathy  of  the  audience  is  freely  rendered  to 
Calista.  The  tragedy  may  still  be  called  an  acting  play,  though 
it  has  lost  something  of  the  popularity  it  retained  during  the  last 
century,  when  even  Edward,  Duke  of  York,  and  Lady  Stanhope, 
enacted  Lothario  and  Calista,  in  the  once  famous  "  private  theatre" 
in  Downing  Street.  Johnson's  criticism  is  all  praise,  as  regards 
both  fable  and  treatment.  The  style  is  purely  English,  as  might 
be  expected  of  a  writer  who  said  of  Dryden,  that — 

"  Backed  by  his  friends,  th'  invader  brought  along 
A  crew  of  foreign  words  into  our  tongue, 
To  ruin  and  enslave  our  free-born  English  song. 
Still,  the  prevailing  faction  propped  his  throne, 
And  to  four  volumes  let  his  plays  run  on." 

Shakspeare,  in  name,  at  least,  re-appears  more  frequently  on  the 
stage  during  the  Dnuy  Lane  season  of  1703-4,  when  "Hamlet," 
"  king  Lear,"  "  Macbeth,"  "  Tiraon  of  Athens,"  "  Richard  IIL," 
the  "Tempest,"  and  "Titus  Andronicus,"  were  performed.  These, 
however,  were  the  "  improved"  editions  of  the  poet.  The  novel- 
ties were,  the  "  Lying  Lover,"  by  Steele ;  "  Love,  the  Leveller ;" 
and  the  "  Albion  Queens."  It  was  the  season  in  which  great 
Anne  fruitlessly  forbade  the  presence  of  vizard-masks  in  the  pit, 
and  of  gallants  on  the  stage ;  recommended  cleanliness  of  speech, 
and  denounced  the  shabby  people  who  occasionally  tried  to  evade 
the  money-takers.  Steele,  in  his  play,  attempted  to  suppoi-t  one 
of  the  good  objects  which  the  Queen  had  in  view;  but  in  stri\ing 
to  be  pure,  after  his  idea  of  purity,  and  to  be  moral,  after  a  loose 
idea  of  morality,  he  failed  altogether  in  wit,  humor  and  invention. 
lie  thought  to  prove  himself  a  good  churchman,  he  said,  even  Id 


198  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

80  small  a  matter  as  a  comedy  ;  and  in  his  character  of  comic  poet, 
"  I  have  been,"  he  says,  "  a  martyr  and  confessor  for  the  church, 
for  this  play  was  damned  for  its  piety."  This  is  as  broad  an  un- 
truth as  any  thing  uttered  by  the  "  Lying  Lover"  himself,  who, 
when  he  does  express  a  mawkish  sentiment  after  he  has  killed  a 
man  in  his  liquor,  can  only  be  held  to  be  "  a  liar,"  as  before. 
Steele  was  condemned  for  stupidity  in  a  piece,  the  only  ray  of 
humor  in  which,  pierces  through  the  dirty,  noisy,  drunken 
throng  of  gallows-birds  in  Newgate.  That  Steele  seriously  in- 
tended his  play  to  be  the  beginning  of  an  era  of  "  new  comedy," 
is,  however,  cert;\in.     In  the  prologue,  it  was  said  of  the  author — 

"  He  aims  to  make  the  coming  action  move 
On  the  tried  laws  of  Friendship  and  of  Love. 
He  ofl'ers  no  gross  vices  to  your  sight, — 
Those  too  much  horror  raise,  for  just  delight." 

Steele's  comedy  was  a  step  in  a  right  direction  ;  and  his  great 
fault  was  pretending  to  be  half-ashamed  of  having  made  it.  That 
it  had  a  "  clear  stage  and  no  favor,"  is  literally  true.  It  was  one 
of  the  first  pieces  played  without  a  mingling  of  the  public  with  the 
players ; — an  evil  fashion,  which  was  not  entirely  suppressed  for 
threescore  years  after  Queen  Anne's  decree,  when  Garrick  proved 
more  absolute  than  her  majesty.  It  was  a  practice  which  so  an- 
noyed Baron,  that  proudest  of  French  actors,  that  to  suggest  to 
the  audience  in  the  house  the  absurdity  of  it,  he  would  turn  his 
back  on  them  for  a  whole  act,  and  play  to  the  audience  on  the 
stage.  Sometimes  the  noise  was  so  loud,  that  an  actor's  voice 
could  be  scarcely  heard.  "  You  speak  too  low !"  cried  a  pit-critic 
to  Defresne.  "  And  you  too  high !"  retorted  the  actor.  The 
offended  pit  screamed  its  indignation,  and  demanded  an  abject 
apology.  "  Gentlemen,"  said  Defresne,  "  I  never  felt  the  degra- 
dation of  my  position  till  now ;"  .  .  .  and  the  pit  interrupted  the 
bold  exordium  by  rounds  of  applause,  under  which  he  resumed 
his  part. 

Of  the  other  pieces  produced  this  season  at  Drury  Lane,  it 
will  suffice  to  say,  that  "  Love  the  Leveller"  was  by  ''  G.  B., 
gent.,"  who  ascribes  its  failure  to  hi3  having  adopted  the  counsel 
of  friends,  and  who  consoles  himself  by  the  thought,  that  "it 


A   SEVEN   years'    RIVALRY,  199 

Tound  so  favorable  a  reception  that  the  best  plays  hardly  ever 
met  with  a  fuller  audience."  Happy  man  !  his  piece  was  at  least 
damned  by  a  full  house.  The  "  Albion  Queens"  was  an  old  play 
by  Banks,  which,  dealing  with  the  affairs  of  England  and  Scotland, 
was  held  to  be  politically  dangerous ;  but  good  Queen  Anne  now 
licensed  it,  on  the  report  of  its  inoffensiveness  made  by  "  a  noble- 
man ;"  and  its  dulness,  relieved  by  good  acting,  delighted  our 
easy  forefathers  for  half  a  century. 

Lincoln's  Inn  failed  to  distinguish  itself  this  season.  Eton  had 
no  reason  to  be  proud  of  the  comedy  of  its  alumnus,  Walker, 
"  Marry  or  do  Worse  ;"  and  in  the  tragedy  of  "  Abra  Mule,"  with 
its  similes,  which  continually  run  away  with  their  rider,  the  yonng 
Master  of  Arts,  Trapp,  shows  that  he  was  as  poor  a  poet,  in  his 
early  days,  as  that  translation  of  Virgil,  which  so  broke  the  rest 
of  Mrs.  Trapp,  proved  him  to  be  in  his  later  years,  when  he  was 
D.  D.,  and  Professor  of  Poetry.  Dennis's  "  Liberty  Asserted" 
only  demonstrated  how  heartily  he  hated  the  French ;  and  as 
there  was  no  dramatist  who  did  so,  in  the  same  degree,  when  the 
French  and  the  Pretender  were  very  obnoxious,  some  years  later, 
this  thunder  of  Dennis  was  revived  to  stimulate  antipathies.  Queen 
Anne's  Scottish  historiographer  did  nothing  for  the  English 
stage,  by  his  comedy  of  "  Love  at  First  Sight,"  and  farces  like  the 
"  Stage  Coach,"  the  "  Wits  of  Woman,"  and  "  Squire  Trelooby," 
are  only  remarkable  because  Betterton  and  the  leading  actors 
played  in  them  as  readily  as  in  "  first  pieces." 

During  May  Fair,  the  theatre  w^as  closed,  some  of  the  actors 
playing  there,  at  Pinkethraan's  booth.  In  the  same  season  they 
played  before  the  Queen  at  St.  James's,  in  the  "  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,"  with  Betterton  as  Falstaff,  wdiich  he  subsequently  acted 
for  his  own  benefit.  Tliis  piece,  and  also  "  Julius  Ceesar," 
"  Othello,"  and  "  Timon  of  Athens,"  were  the  plays  by  or  from 
Shakspeare,  which  were  played  this  season. 

The  season  of  1Y04-5,  at  Drury  Lane,  now  prospering,  to  the 
considerable  vexation  of  Kit  Rich,  chief  proprietor,  who  felt  him- 
self unable  to  avoid  paying  his  company  their  salaries,  is  notable 
for  the  production  of  Gibber's  "  Careless  Husband."  He  who  now 
reads  it  for  the  first  time  may  bo  surprised  to  hear  that  in  this 
comedy   a  really   serious   and  eminently   successful   attempt  to 


200  doran's  annals  of  tue  stage. 

reform  the  licentiousness  of  the  drama  was  made  by  one  who  had 
been  himself  a  great  oftender.  Nevertheless,  the  fact  remains.  la 
Lord  Morelove  we  have  the  first  lover  in  English  comedy,  since 
licentiousness  possessed  it,  who  is  at  once  a  gentleman  and  an 
honest  man.  In  Lady  Easy,  we  have,  what  was  hitherto  unknown 
or  laughed  at, — a  virtuous  married  woman.  It  is  a  conversational 
piece,  not  one  of  much  action.  The  dialogue  is  admirably  sus- 
tained, not  only  in  repartee,  but  in  descriptive  parts.  There  is  some 
refinement  manifested  in  treating  and  talking  of  things  unrefined, 
and  incidents  are  pictured  with  a  master's  art.  Gibber's  greatest 
claim  to  respect  seems  to  me  to  rest  on  this  elegant  and  elaborate, 
though  far  from  faultless  comedy.  So  carefully  did  he  construct 
the  character  of  the  beautiful  and  brilliant  coquette,  Lady  Betty 
Modish,  whose  waywardness  and  selfishness  are  finally  subdued 
by  a  worthy  lover,  that  he  despaired  finding  an  actress  with 
power  enough  to  realize  his  conception.  It  was  written  for  Mrs. 
V^erbruggen  (Mountfort),  but  she  was  now  dead  ;  Mrs.  Bracegirdle 
might  have  played  it ;  but  "  Bracey"  was  not  a  member  of  the 
Drury  Lane  company.  There  was,  indeed,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  but  Col- 
ley  could  scarcely  see  more  in  her  than  an  actress  of  promise. 
Reluctantly,  however,  he  intrusted  the  part  to  her,  foreboding  dis- 
comfort ;  but  there  ensued  a  triumph  for  the  actress  and  the  play, 
for  which  Colley  was  admiringly  grateful  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
To  her,  he  confessed,  was  chiefly  owing  the  success,  though  every 
character  was  adequately  cast.  He  eulogized  her  excellence  of 
action,  and  her  "personal  manner  of  conversing."  He  adds, 
"  There  are  many  sentiments  in  the  character  of  Lady  BettJ 
Modish  that  I  may  almost  say  were  originally  her  own,  or  only 
dressed  with  a  little  more  care  than  when  they  negligently  fell 
from  her  lively  humor ;  had  her  birth  placed  her  in  a  higher  rank 
of  life,  she  had  certainly  appeared  in  reality  what  in  this  play  she 
only  excellently  acted,  an  agreeably  gay  woman  of  quality,  a  little 
too  conscious  of  her  natural  attractions." 

Neither  Gibber's  friends  nor  foes  seem  to  have  at  all  enjoyed 
his  success.  They  would  not  conipi'omise  their  own  reputation 
by  questioning  the  merit  of  this  rare  piece  of  dramatic  excellence, 
but  they  insinuated  or  assei'ted  that  he  was  not  the  author.  It 
was  written  by  Defoe,  by  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  by  Mrs.  Oldtield'a 


A  SEVE^'  years'  ri\  alry.  201 

particular  friend,  Maynwaring !  Congi-eve,  who  had  revelled  in 
impurity,  and  stoutly  asserted  his  cleanliness,  ungenerously  de- 
clared, "  Gibber  has  produced  a  play  consisting  of  fine,  gentlemen 
and  fine  conversation,  all  together,  which  the  ridiculous  town,  for 
the  most  part,  likes."  Congreve  liad  not  then  forgiven  the 
ridiculous  world  for  i-eceiving  so  coldly  his  own  last  comedy,  the 
"  Way  of  the  World."  Dr.  Armstrou'T  has  more  honestly  ana- 
lyzed the  play,  and  pointed  out  its  defects,  without  noticing  itj' 
merits ;  but  Walpole,  no  bad  judge  of  a  comedy  of  such  character 
has  enthusiastically  declared  that  it  "  deserves  to  be  immortal.' 
It  has  failed  in  that  respect,  because  its  theme,  manners,  follies,  and 
allusions,  are  obsolete,  to  say  nothing  of  a  company  to  follow  even 
decently  the  original  cast,  which  included  Sir  Charles  Easy, 
Wilks ;  Lord  Foppington,  Gibber ;  and  Lady  Betty  Modish,  Mrs. 
Oldfield. 

Steele's  "  Tender  Husband,  or  the  Accomplislied  Fools,"  in 
which  he  had  Addison  for  a  coadjutor,  was  produced  in  April,  1704. 
Addison's  share  therein  was  not  avowed  till  long  subsequently : 
but  it  was  handsomely  acknowledged,  at  last,  by  Steele,  in  the 
Spectator.  In  the  concluding  paper  of  the  seventh  volume,  Steele 
alluded  to  certain  scenes  which  had  been  most  applauded.  These, 
he  said,  were  hy  Addison ;  and  honest  Dick  added,  that  he  had 
ever  since  thought  meanly  of  himself  in  not  having  publicly 
avowed  the  fact.  This  comedy  was  chiefly  a  satire  on  the  evils  of 
romance  reading,  and  was  of  a  strictly  moral,  yet  decidedly  heavy 
tendency ;  but  with  a  Biddy  Tipkin  (Mrs.  Oldfield),  to  which 
there  has  been,  as  to  Lady  Betty  Modish,  no  efficient  successor. 
There  was  a  good  end  in  both  these  plays.  The  other  novelties, 
"  Arsinoe,  Queen  of  Gyprus,"  an  opera  ;  "  Gibraltar,  or  the  Span- 
ish Adventurer,"  a  faihare  of  Dennis's ;  "  Farewell  Folly,"  by  Mot 
teux ;  and  the  "  Quacks,"  by  Swincy — oblivion  wraps  them  all. 

Li  this  season  Dick  Estcourt  made  his  first  appearance  in  Lon- 
don as  Dominic,  in  the  "  Spanish  Friar,"  Of  Shakspeare's  plays, 
"  Hamlet,"  "  Henry  IV.,"  and  "  Macbeth,"  were  frequently  repeat- 
ed during  the  season. 

''Arsinoe,"  whicli  I  have  mentioned  above,  merits  a  special 
word  in  passing,  as  being  the  first  attempt  to  establish  opera  in 
Eiiglaiid,  after  the  fashion  of  that  of  Italy.     "If  tl  is   attempt,' 


202  PORAl^'S   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

says  Clayton,  the  composer,  who  understood  English  no  better 
than  he  did  music,  "  shall  be  the  nieans  of  bringing  this  manner 
of  music  to  be  used  in  my  native  country,  I  shall  think  my  study 
and  pains  very  well  employed."  The  principal  singer  was  Mrs. 
Tofts,  who  for  two  years  had  been  singing,  after  the  play,  at  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields,  against  Marguerite  de  I'Epine,  the  pupil  of  Gre- 
bcr,  and  subsequently  the  ill-favored  but  happy  wife  of  Dr,  Pepusch, 

">  fondly  called  her  Hecate — she  answering  good-humored- 
13  to  the  name.  The  Earl  of  Nottingham  (son  of  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Finch),  and  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  who  lost  by  dice  more 
than  his  father  made  by  the  "  Bedford  Level,"  patronized  and 
went  into  ecstasy  at  the  song  and  shake  of  "  the  Italian  lady,"  as 
Marguerite  was  called.  The  proud  Duke  of  Somerset,  who  was 
as  mean  as  he  was  proud,  and,  according  to  Lord  Cowper,  as 
cowardly  as  he  was  arrogant,  supported  native  talent,  in  Mrs. 
Tofts ;  as  did  also  that  Duke  of  Devonshire,  Avhom  Evelyn  won- 
deringly  saw  lose,  with  calmness,  at  Newmarket,  £1,600,  and  who 
was  afterwards  the  muniticent  lover,  and  heart-stricken  mourpev, 
of  another  beautiful  vocalist,  Miss  Campion.  Mrs.  Tofts  haol 
another  supporter  in  her  too  zealous  servant,  Anne  Barwick,  who 
one  night  went  to  Drury  Lane,  and  assailed  Marguerite  with  hisses 
and  oranges,  to  the  great  disgust  of  her  honest  mistress.  In  such 
discord  did  opera  commence  among  us.  "  Arsinoe,"  however, 
had  a  certain  success,  towards  which  the  composer,  Clayton,  con- 
tributed little ;  and  he  was  destined  to  do  less  subsequently. 

The  season  of  the  rival  company  was  passed  in  two  houses : — 
at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  from  October  till  the  April  of  1705,  when 
the  company  with  the  "  four  capital  B.'s,"  Betterton,  Booth,  Mrs. 
Barry,  and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  removed  to  the  house  in  the  Ilay- 
market,  built  for  them  by  Vanbrugh,  under  a  subscription  filled 
by  thirty  persons  of  quality,  at  £100  each,  for  which  they  re- 
ceived free  admissions  for  life.  Under  his  license  at  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  Betterton  produced  nothing  of  note  this  season  but  Rowe's 
"  Biters,"  a  satirical  comedy,  which  failed.  At  the  end  of  the 
season  he  consigned  his  license  to  Vanbrugh,  under  whom  he  en- 
gaged as  leading  tragedian.  Vanbrugh  opened  on  the  9th  of 
April,  with  an  opera,  the  "  Triumph  of  Love."  It  failed,  as  did 
old  plays  inadequately  filled,  and,  rew  pieces,  by  Mrs.  Fix,  Swinoy, 


A   SEVEN   years'   RIVALRY.  203 

tnd  one  or  two  other  obscure  writers,  including  Chaves,  author 
of  a  condemned  comedy,  the  "  Cares  of  Love."  Baker  describes 
Chaves  as  a  person  of  no  consideration,  on  the  ground  that  he 
dedicated  his  play  to  "  Sir  William  Read,  the  Mountebank,"  who, 
I  think,  could  very  well  atford  to  pay  the  usual  fee.  With  these 
poor  aids,  and  many  mischances,  the  first  season  at  the  Queen's 
Theatre,  on  the  site  of  our  present  Opera  House,  came  to  an  un 
satisfactory  conclusion. 

The  season  of  1705-6,  at  Drury  Lane,  with  a  few  nights  at  Dor- 
set Gardens,  would  have  been  equally  unsatisfactory,  but  for  ona 
great  success  to  balance  the  failures  of  repatching  of  old  pieces, 
worthless  new  comedies,  and  the  fruitless  struffo;le  of  fashionable 
patrons  to  sustain  Cibber's  tragedy,  "  Perolla  and  Izadora."  The 
great  success  was  Farquhar's  "  Recruiting  Officer,"  played  on  the 
8th  April,  1706,  with  this  cast.  Plume,  Wilks  ;  Brazen,  Cibber  ; 
Kite,  Estcourt ;  Bullock,  Bullock ;  Balance,  Keene ;  Worthy, 
Williams ;  Costar  Pearmain,  Norris  ;  Appletree,  Fairbank  ;  Sylvia, 
Mrs.  Oldfield ;  Mehnda,  Mrs.  Rogers ;  Rose,  Mrs.  Susan  Mount- 
fort  ;  Lucy,  Mrs.  Sapsford, 

Tliis  lively  comedy  was  so  successful  that  Tonson,  in  a  fit  of 
liberality,  gave  the  author  fifteen  pounds,  and  a  supplementary 
half  crown  for  the  copyright.  The  money  was  welcome ;  for,  be- 
tween having  married,  or  rather  being  married  by,  a  woman  who 
pretended  she  had  a  large  fortune,  when,  she  really  liad  only  a  large 
amount  of  love  for  Farquhar,  who  was  more  attracted  by  the  pre- 
tence than  the  reality ;  between  this,  his  commission  sold,  his 
patrons  indifferent,  his  family  cares  increasing,  and  his  health  de- 
clining, poor  George  was  in  sorry  need,  yet  buoyant  spirits. 
Critics  foretold  that  this  play  would  live  for  ever  ;  but  unfortunate- 
ly it  has  been  found  impossible  to  separate  the  wit  and  the  lively 
action  from  the  more  objectionable  parts,  and  we  may  not  expect 
to  see  its  revival.  Farquhar  has  drawn  on  his  own  experiences  in 
the  construction,  and  all  the  amiable  people  in  the  piece  were  tran- 
scripts of  good  Shrewsbury  folk,  whose  names  have  been  preserved. 
Farquhar  immortalized  the  virtues  of  his  hosts,  and  did  not,  like 
Foote,  watch  them  at  the  tables  at  which  he  was  a  guest,  to  sub- 
sequently expose  them  to  public  ridicule. 

"  Santlow,   famed  for   dance,"   first  bounded   on    to  the  stage 


204  D0KA^'"S   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

during  this  season,  and  the  heart  of  Mr.  Secretary  Craggs  boundc  J 
in  uni>on.  Miss  Younger,  too,  first  trod  the  boards,  March,  1706, 
when  about  seven  years  old,  as  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  in  "  Virtue 
Betrayed;"  but,  perhaps,  the  most  notable  circumstance  of  the 
year  was,  that  the  chapel  in  Russell  Court  was  then  building ;  but 
it  was  under  difficulties,  to  extricate  it  from  which  theDrury  Lane 
compai\y  played  "  Hamlet,"  and  handed  over  the  handsome 
proceeds  to  the  building  committee  ! 

Vanbrugh's  two  comedies,  the  "  Confederacy"  and  the  "  Mis- 
take" (the  latter  still  acted  under  the  title  of  "  Lovers'  Quarrels"), 
Rowe's  "  Ulysses,"  the  "  Faithful  General,"  by  an  anonymous  young 
lady,  a  forgotten  tragedy,  the  "  Revolution  of  Sweden,"  by  Mrs. 
Trotter,  an  equally  forgotten  comedy,  "  Adventures  m  Madrid," 
by  fat  Mrs.  Pix,  tragic,  comic,  and  extravaganza  operas,  by  Lans- 
down,  Durfey,  and  others, — all  this  novelty,  a  fair  company  of 
actors,  troops  of  dancers,  and  a  company  of  vocalists  with  Dick 
Leveredge  and  Mrs.  Tofts  at  the  head  of  them,  failed  to  render 
the  often  broken  but  prolonged  season  of  1705-6,  which  began 
in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  terminated  at  the  house  in  the  Hay- 
market,  profitable. 

In  many  respects  it  did  not  deserve  to  be,  for  Vanbrugh,  with 
more  wit  and  humor,  and  more  judgment  in  adaptation  than  Ravens- 
croft,  sought  to  bring  back  comedy  to  the  uncleanliness  in  which 
the  latter  writer  had  left  it.  There  came  a  cry,  however,  from 
the  outer  world,  against  this  condition  of  things.  Lord  Garden- 
stone,  a  lord  of  seat,  I  believe,  and  not  a  lord  of  state,  as  it  is  said 
in  the  north,  indignantly  remarked  of  the  "  Confederacy  :" — "  This 
is  one  of  those  plays  which  throw  infamy  on  the  English  stage  and 
general  taste,  though  it  is  not  destitute  of  wit  and  humor.  A 
people  must  be  in  the  last  degree  depraved,  among  whom  such 
public  entertainments  are  produced  and  encouraged.  In  this 
symptom  of  degenerate  manners  we  are,  I  believe,  unmatched  by 
any  nation  that  is,  or  ever  was,  in  the  world."  In  the  •'  Con- 
federacy," Doggett's  fame  as  an  actor  culminated.  He  dressed 
Moneytrap  with  the  care  of  a  true  artist.  On  an  old  threadbaie 
black  coat,  he  tacked  new  cufi's  and  collar  to  make  its  rustiness 
more  apparent.  Genest,  quoting  Wilks,  adds,  that  the  neck  of  the 
coat  was  stuft'ed  so  as  to  make  the  wearei-  appear  round-shoui- 


A   SEVEN   YEARS'   EIVALRY.  205 

dered,  and  give  greater  prominency  to  tlie  head.  Wearing  large, 
Bquare-toed  shoes  with  huge  buckles  over  his  own  ordinary  pair, 
made  his  legs  appear  smaller  than  they  really  were.  Doggett,  we 
are  told,  could  paint  and  mould  his  face  to  any  age.  Kneller  re- 
cognized in  him  a  superior  artist.  Sir  Godfrey  remarks,  that 
"Ae  could  only  copy  nature  from  the  originals  before  him,  but 
that  Doggett  could  vary  them  at  pleasure,  and  yet  keep  a  close 
likeness."  It  must  be  confessed  the  public  were  more  pleased 
with  this  piece  than  with  Rowe's  "  Ulysses,"  in  which  Penelope 
gave  so  bright  an  example  of  conjugal  duty  and  maternal  love,  in 
the  person  of  Mrs.  Barry,  to  the  Ulysses  of  Betteiton,  and  the 
Telemachus  of  Booth.  That  public  would,  perhaps,  have  cared 
more  for  the  grace  and  nature  of  Addison's  "Rosamond,"  pro- 
duced at  Drury  Lane,  in  March,  1707,  with  its  exquisite  flattery 
cunningly  administered  to  the  warrior  who  then  dwelt  near  Wood- 
stock, had  it  been  set  by  a  less  incompetent  musician  than  William's 
old  band-master,  Clayton,  the  conceited  person,  who  undertook  to 
improve  on  Italian  example,  and  who  violated  the  accents  and 
prosody  of  our  language,  as  well  as  all  rules  of  musical  com- 
position. It  is  singular,  however,  that  neither  Arne  nor  Arnold 
have  been  much  more  successful,  in  resetting  Addison's  Opera, 
than  Clayton  himself.  The  piece  was  played  but  three  times, 
and  the  author's  witty  ailicles  against  the  absurdities  of  Italian 
opera  are  supposed,  by  some  writers,  to  have  owed  their  satire 
to  the  failure  of  "  Rosamond."  One  great  and  happy  success 
Addison  achieved  through  this  piece,  which  compensated  for  any 
disappointment  springing  from  it.  Poetical  warrant  of  its  excel- 
lence was  sent  to  him  from  many  a  quarter;  but  the  brightest 
wreath,  the  most  elegant,  refined,  graceful,  and  the  most  welcome 
of  all,  emanated  from  his  own  University.  Addison,  charmed  with 
the  lines,  inquired  after  the  writer,  and  discovered  him  in  an 
under-graduate  of  Queen's  College,  the  son  of  a  poor  Cumberland 
clergyman,  and  named  Thomas  Tickell.  It  was  a  happy  day  when 
both  met,  for  then  was  laid  the  foundation  of  a  long  and  tender 
friendship.  To  "  Rosamond"  and  his  own  musical  lines  upon  it, 
Tickell  owed  the  felicity  of  his  life,  as  Addison's  fi-iend  at  home, 
his  secretary  in  his  study,  his  associate  abroad,  his  assistant  and 
substitute  in   his  office  of  Secretary    of  State,   and,  finally,   less 


20G  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

happy  but  not  less  honorable,  the  executor  of  his  patron's  will 
and  the  editor  of  his  patron's  works. 

"  Rosamond"  was  produced  during  one  of  the  most  unlucky 
seasons  at  Drury  Lane,  1706-7;  during  which,  Svviuey  parted 
ft'om  Rich,  took  the  Haymarket,  from  Vanbrugh,  at  a  rent  of  £51 
per  night,  and  carried  with  him  some  of  the  best  actors  from 
Drury.  "The  deserted  company,"  as  they  called  themselves, 
advertised  the  "  Recruiting  Officer,"  for  their  benefit,  "  in  which 
they  pray  there  may  be  singing  by  Mrs.  Tofts,  in  English  and 
ItaUan ;  and  some  dancing."  The  main  stay  of  the  season  was 
the  "  Recruiting  Officer."  Estcourt  was  advertised  as  "  The  true 
Serjeant  Kite,"  against  Pack,  who  played  it  at  the  Haymarket. 
At  Drury,  where  Rich  depended  chiefly  on  opera,  it  was  said  that 
"  sound  had  got  the  better  of  sense  ;"  and  the  old  motto,  "  vivitur 
inffenio,"  was  no  longer  applicable.  It  is  at  the  Haymarket,  says 
the  dedication  of  "  Wit  without  Money,"  to  Newman,  the  prompt- 
er, that  "  wit  is  encouraged,  and  the  player  reaps  the  fruit  of  his 
labors,  without  toiling  for  those  who  have  always  been  the  op- 
pressors of  the  stage." 

In  the  season  of  1706-7,  at  the  Haymarket,  Mrs.  Oldfield  and 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  first  played  together, — the  younger  actress  ulti- 
mately winning  or  vanquishing  the  town.  Gibber,  too,  joined 
the  company,  at  the  head  of  whom  remained  Betterton  and  Mrs. 
Barry.  Every  effort  was  made  to  beat  opera,  by  a  production  of 
pieces  of  a  romantic  or  classical  cast ;  and  Addison's  pen,  in  pro- 
logue on  the  stage,  or  in  praise  in  the  Spectator,  was  wielded  in 
the  cause  of  the  players,  his  neighbors. 

Mrs.  Centlivre,  and  Mrs.  Mauley,  contributed  now-forgotten 
plays.  The  former, — the  "  Platonic  Lady,"  in  which  there  is  the 
unpleasant  incident  of  a  couple  of  lovers,  who  ultimately  prove  to 
be  brother  and  sister.  Mrs.  Manley,  in  "  Almyna,"  recommended 
what  she  had  little  practised, — unlimited  exercise  of  heroic  virtue. 
Some  vampcd-up  old  pieces,  with  new  names,  were  added,  and 
subscription  lists  were  opened,  to  enable  the  cotnpan}^  whose  in 
terests  were  espoused  by  Lord  Halifax,  to  make  head  against  opera. 
The  greatest  attempt  to  overcome  the  latter  was  made,  by  produc- 
ing a  truly  and  drily-classical  tragedy,  by  Edmund  Smith,  called 
"  Phaedra  and  Hippolytus,"  which  the  public  would  not  endure 


A   SEVEN   years'    RIVALRY.  207 

above  three  nights,  to  the  disgust  and  astonishment  of  Addison,  aa 
recorded  in  the  Spectator.  Smith,  or  Neale  rather, — the  former 
being  a  name  he  adopted  from  a  benevolent  unck\ — was  not  the 
man  to  give  new  lustre  to  the  stage.  Scarcely  a  year  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  been  expelled  from  Oxford  University ;  the  brilliancy 
of  his  career  there  could  not  save  him  from  that  disgrace.  His 
success  on  the  stage,  when  he  made  this  his  sole  attempt,  was  per- 
haps impeded  by  the  exactions  of  actors  and  actresses  at  rehearsal, 
to  suit  whose  caprices  he  had  to  write  fi'esh  verses,  and  furnish 
them  with  "  tags,"  whereby  to  secure  applause,  as  they  made  their 
exit.  The  play  fell,  and  the  author  with  it.  The  once  brilliant 
scholar  descended  to  become  a  sot.  The  once  best-dressed  fop  of 
his  day,  became  known  by  the  nickname  of  "  Captain  Rag ;"  and 
as  neither  his  wild  life  nor  his  careless  style  of  costume  seriously 
affected  his  great  personal  beauty,  the  women,  tempering  justice 
with  clemency,  called  him  the  Handsome  Sloven  !  This  scholar, 
poet,  critic  and  drunkard,  attempted  to  recover  his  reputation,  by 
writing  a  tragedy,  on  the  subject  of  Lady  Jane  Grey  ;  but  he  died 
in  the  attempt. 

A  greater  dramatist  than  he  died  this  season,  in  a  blaze  of 
triumph  from  the  stage,  under  the  dull  cloud  of  poverty,  at  home, 
— George  Farquhar.  His  joyous  "  Beaux  Stratagem,"  first  played 
on  the  8th  of  March,  1707,  was  written  in  six  painful  weeks.  Ton- 
eon  gave  him  £30  for  the  right  of  printing,  and  this,  with  what 
he  received  from  the  managers,  solaced  the  last  weeks  of  the  life 
of  the  ex-captain,  who  had  sold  his  commission,'  and  had  been  de- 
luded by  a  patron  who  had  promised  to  obtain  preferment  for  him. 
Farquhar  had  lost  every  thing,  but  sense  of  pain  and  flow  of  spirits. 
He  died  in  April,  1707,  while  the  public  were  being  enchanted  by 
his  comedy, — so  rich  in  delineation  of  character  and  in  variety  of 
incident.  It  was  thus  cast :  Aimwell,  Mills ;  Archer,  Wilks ; 
Scrub,  Norris ;  Foigard,  Bowen  (then  newly  come  from  Ireland) ; 
Boniface,  Bullock ;  Sullen,  Verbruggen  (his  last  original  character ; 
— the  stage  was  thoughtful  of  his  orphan  children  as  it  was  of 
those  of  Farquhar)  ;  Gibbet,  Gibber ;  Count  Bellair,  Bowman  ;  Sii 
Charles  Freeman,  Keene  ;  Lady  Bountiful,  Mrs.  Powell ;  Mrs.  Sul 
jen,  Mrs,  Oldfield  ;  Cherry,  Mrs.  Bicknell ;  Dorinda,  Mrs.  Bradshaw 
This  piece  was  the  great  glory  of  the  Hay  market  season,  1V06-7. 


208  doran's  anmals  of  the  stage. 

The  season  of  1 707-8  was  the  last  for  a  time  of  the  two  oppos- 
ing houses,  and  it  requires  but  a  brief  notice.  Powell  at  Drury 
Lane  was  weak  as  leading  tragedian  against  Betterton  at  the  Ilay- 
tnarket,  and  Rich,  the  manager,  produced  no  new  piece.  At  the 
rival  house  the  novelties  were  Gibber's  adaptations  of  two  or  three 
forgotten  plays,  the  bricks  with  which  he  built  up  his,  at  first 
''  hounded,"  but  ultimately  successful,  "  Double  Gallant,"  in  which 
lie  played  Atall ;  the  same  author's  "  Lady's  Last  Stake,"  a  heavy 
comedy ;  and  Rowe's  "  Royal  Convert,"  a  heavier  tragedy  of  the 
times  of  Hengist  and  Horsa.  In  this  play,  the  coiirtly  author 
bade  for  the  bays  (which  were  not  to  encircle  his  brows  till  the  ac- 
cession of  George  L),  by  introducing  a  complimentary  prophecy 
alluding  to  Queen  Anne  and  the  then  much-canvassed  Union  of 
England  and  Scotland.  This  was,  perhaps,  not  worse  than  the  ref- 
erences made  by  the  savage  Saxon  Rodogune  to  Venus,  and  to 
the  Eagle  that  bore  Jove's  thunder  !  There  are,  nevertheless,  some 
stately  scenes  in  this  play.  Of  its  failure,  Rowe  did  not  complain, 
he  simply,  on  printing  it,  quoted  the  words  "  Laudatur  et  alget," 
on  the  title-page.  Critics  have  thought  that  the  -story  was  of  too 
religious  a  texture  to  please.  It  was  too  obscure  to  excite 
interest. 

At  the  end  of  this  season  the  two  companies  were  ordered,  by 
the  Lord  Chamberlain,  to  unite ;  and  they  were  not  indisposed  to 
obey.  The  patent  for  Drury  Lane  was  then  held  by  Rich  and 
Sir  Thomas  Skipwith,  who  had  formerly  held  a  larger  share.  The 
Monthly  Mirror,  for  Mai'ch,  1798,  says  that  Rich's  father  was  an 
attorney,  to  one  of  whose  clients  Sir  Thomas  owed  a  large  sum  ot 
money.  Being  unable  to  pay  it,  he  put  up  a  part  of  his  theatrical 
patent  to  auction,  and  Rich  bought  the  share  for  £80  !  In  Chris- 
topher Rich's  time  a  quarter  share  was  sold  to  Colman  for  £20,000. 
Sir  Thomas  now  consigned  what  share  he  held  to  Colonel  Brett, — 
a  man  more  famous,  as  the  husband  of  the  divorced  wife  of  Charles 
Gerard,  second  Earl  of  Macclesfield,  of  whom  fiction  still  makes 
the  mother  of  Savage,  the  poet, — and  as  the  father  of  Anne  Brett, 
George  I.'s  English  mistress,  than  for  aught  else,  except  it  be  that 
he  was  the  friend  of  Colley  Cibber.  It  was  by  Colonel  Brett's  in- 
fluence that  the  union  of  the  companies  was  etFected,  under  the 
patent  held  by  him  and  Rich  ;  and   henceforward  the  great  house 


A  SEVEN   years'   RIV'ALIU^  209 

lu  the  Hayiuarket  was  given  up  to  Swiiiey  and  Italian  Opera,  at 
the  following-  prices  for  admission,  which  will  be  found  to  form 
a  strong  contrast  with  those  at  present  extracted  from  the  British 
pocket: — Stage-boxes,  10s.  6c?.;  Boxes,  8s.-,  Pit,  5s.;  Lower  Gal- 
lery, 2s.  Qd. ;  Upper  Gallery,  Is.  6(/. 

I  have  stated  above  that  the  union  of  the  companies  was  the 
result  of  an  order  from  the  Lord  Chamberlain.  How  absolute 
was  the  authority  of  this  official  may  be  gathered  from  vari- 
ous incidents  on  record.  Gibber  cites  one  to  this  effect :  Powell, 
the  actor,  holding  controversy  on  theatrical  matters,  at  Will's 
Coftee  House,  was  so  excited  as  to  strike  one  of  the  speakers  on 
the  opposite  side.  Unluckily,  this  speaker  was  a  kinsman  of  the 
master  or  manager  of  the  house  where  Powell  played,  and  he  rush- 
ed to  the  Chamberlain's  office  to  obtain  redress,  that  is  vengeance. 
In  the  absence  of  the  supreme  officer,  the  Vice-Chamberlain  took 
up  the  quarrel.  He  probably  ordered  the  actor  to  offer  an  apology  ; 
and  he  certainly  shut  up  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  because  the  man- 
ager, who  had  received  no  communication  from  him,  had  permitted 
Powell  to  appear  before  such  reparation  was  made.  The  embarrass- 
ed company  of  comedians  were  not  allowed  to  resume  their  call- 
ing for  two  or  three  days,  and  thus  serious  injury  was  infficted  on 
such  actors  as  were  paid  only  on  the  days  of  performance.  This 
was  in  King  William's  reign,  but  the  power  was  not  less,  nor  less 
absolutely  exercised,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne ;  and  on  this 
very  occasion  which  led  to  the  Chamberlain's  order  for  the  union 
of  the  companies.  Great  dissension  had  arisen  at  Drury  Lane  by 
a  new  arrangement  with  respect  to  benefits,  whereby  the  patentees 
took  a  third  of  the  receipts.  The  more  discontented  went  over  to 
the  Haymarket ;  others  remained,  protested,  and  sought  for  re- 
dress at  the  legal  tribunal.  Gibber  will  best  tell  what  follow- 
ed:— 

"  Several  little  disgraces  were  put  upon  them,  particularly  in  the 
disposal  of  parts  in  plays  to  be  revived  ;  and  as  visible  a  partiality 
was  shown  in  the  promotion  of  those  in  their  interest,  though  their 
endeavors  to  serve  them  could  be  of  no  extraordinary  use.  All 
this  while  the  other  party  were  passively  silent,  till  one  day,  the 
actor  who  particularly  solicited  their  cause  at  tne  Lord  Chamber 
Iain's  office,  being  shown  there  the  order  signed   for  absolutely 


210  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

silencing  tbe  patentees,  and  ready  to  be  served,  flew  back  with  the 
news  to  his  companions,  tlien  at  a  rehearsal,  at  which  he  had  been 
wanted;  when  being  called  to  his  part,  and  something  hastily 
questioned  by  the  patentee  for  his  neglect  of  business,  this  actor, 
I  say,  with  an  erected  look  and  a  theatrical  spirit,  at  once  threw 
off  the  mask,  and  roundly  told  him :  '  Sir,  I  have  now  no  more 
business  here  than  you  have.  In  half  an  hour  you  will  neither 
have  actors  to  command,  nor  authority  to  employ  them.'  The 
patentee  who,  though  he  could  not  readily  comprehend  his  myste- 
rious manner  of  speaking,  had  just  glimpse  of  terror  enough  from 
the  words  to  soften  his  reproof  into  a  cold  formal  declaration,  that 
*  if  he  would  not  do  his  work  he  should  not  be  paid.'  But  now, 
to  complete  the  catastrophe  of  these  theatrical  commotions,  enters 
the  messenger,  with  the  order  of  silence  in  his  hands,  whom  the 
same  actor  officiously  introduced,  telling  the  patentee  that  the 
gentleman  wanted  to  speak  with  him,  from  the  Lord  Chamberlain. 
When  the  messenger  had  delivered  the  order,  the  actor,  throwing 
his  head  over  his  shoulder,  towards  the  patentee,  in  the  manner  of 
Shakspeare's  Harry  VIII.  to  Cardinal  Wolsey,  cried:  'Read  o'er 
that !  and  then  to  breakfast,  with  what  appetite  you  may  I'  Though 
these  words  might  be  spoken  in  too  vindictive  and  insulting  a  man- 
ner to  be  commended,  yet,  from  the  fulness  of  a  heart  injuriously 
treated,  and  now  relieved  on  that  instant  occasion,  why  might  they 
not  be  pardoned?  The  authority  of  the  patent,  now  no  longer 
subsisting,  all  the  confederated  actors  immediately  walked  out  of 
the  house,  to  which  they  never  returned,  till  they  became  them- 
selves the  tenants  and  masters  of  it." 

Let  me  note  here  that  in  May,  1708,  Vanbrugh  wrote  to  Lord 
Manchester : — "  I  have  parted  with  my  whole  concern  (the  Queen's 
Theatre,  Haymarket)  to  Mr.  Swiney,  only  reserving  my  rent,  sc 
he  is  entire  possessor  of  the  Opera,  and  most  people  think  will 
manage  it  better  than  anybody.  He  has  a  good  deal  of  money 
in  his  pocket,  that  he  got  before  by  the  acting  company,  and  is 
willing  to  venture  it  upon  the  singers."  This  proves  that  the  lack 
of  prosperity,  which  marked  the  end  of  the  last  century,  did  not 
distinofuish  the  beginning  of  the  new. 


THE    UNITED   ANP   THE   DISUNITED   COMPANIES.     211 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    UNITED    AND    THE    DISUNITED    COMPANIES. 

The  names  of  Betterton,  Booth,  Wilks,  Gibber,  Mills,  Powell, 
Estcourt,  Pitikethman,  jun..  Keen,  Norris,  Bullock,  Pack,  John- 
son, Bowen,  Thurmond,  BickerstafF; — of  Mistresses  Barry,  Brad- 
shaw,  Oldfield,  Powell,  Rogers,  Saunders,  Bicknell,  Knight, 
Porter,  Susan  Mountfort,  and  Cross, — indicate  the  quality  of  a  com- 
pany, which  commenced  acting  at  Drury  Lane,  and  which,  in  some 
respects,  was  perhaps  never  equalled  ;  though  it  did  not  at  first  real- 
ize a  corresponding  success.  Betteiton  only  "  played"  occasion- 
ally, though  he  invariably  acted  well.  The  new  pieces  produced, 
failed  to  please.  The  young  Kentish  attorney,  and  future  editor 
of  Shakspeare, — Theobald,  gave  the  first  of  about  a  score  of  for- 
gotten dramas  to  the  stage ;  but  his  "  Persian  Princess"  swept  it 
but  once  or  twice  with  her  train.  Taverner,  the  proctor,  who 
could  paint  landscapes  almost  as  ably  as  Gaspar  Poussin,  proved 
but  a  poor  dramatist ;  and  his  "  Maid  the  Mistress,"  was  barely 
listened  to. 

Matters  did  not  improve  in  1708-9,  in  which  season  Brett's 
share  of  the  patent  was  made  over  to  AVilks,  Cibber  and  Estcourt, 
— the  other  shares  amounting  to  nearly  a  dozen.  The  only  suc- 
cess of  this  season  was  achieved  by  Mrs.  Centlivre's  "  Busy  Body" 
(Marplot,  by  Pack),  and  that  was  a  success  of  slow  growth. 
Baker,  who  had  ridiculed  his  own  effeminate  ways  in  Maiden 
("  Tunbridge  Walks"),  now  satirized  the  women;  but  the  public 
hissed  his  "  Fine  Lady's  Airs,"  almost  as  much  as  they  did  Tom 
Durfey's  "  Prophets."  Li  the  latter  piece,  rakish,  caroless,  pen- 
niless Tom,  laughed  at  the  religious  impostors  of  the  day  who 
dealt  with  the  past  dead  and  with  future  events ;  but  the  public 
did  not  see  the  fun  of  it,  and  dainned  the  play,  whose  author  sur- 
vived to  write  worse.  Then  there  was  the  "  Appius  and  Virginia," 
of  Dennis, — of  which  nothing  survives  but  the  theatrical  thunder. 


212  dokan's  axxals  of  tiie  stage. 

invented  by  tlie  author  fur  this  ti'agedy, — and  the  use  of  which, 
after  the  pubUc  had  condemned  the  drama  of  a  man  who  equally 
foared  France  abroad  and  bailiffs  at  home,  was  always  resented  by 
liim  as  a  plagiarism.  In  this  piece,  Betterton  acted  the  last  of 
liis  long  list  of  the  dramatic  characters  created  by  him, — Virginius. 
Sliortly  after  this,  took  place  that  famous  complimentary  benefit 
for  the  old  player,  when  the  pit  tickets  were  paid  for  at  a  guinea 
each.  The  actors  could  scarcely  get  through  "  Love  for  Love," 
in  which  he  played  Valentine,  for  the  cloud  of  noble  patrons 
clustered  on  the  stage,  when  guineas  by  the  score  were  delicately 
pi'essed  upon  him  for  acceptance, — and  Mistresses  Barry  and 
Bracegirdle  supported  him  at  the  close ;  while  the  former  spoke 
the  epilogue,  Vifhicli  was  the  dramatic  apotheosis  of  Betteilon  him- 
self. 

On  the  following  June,  actors  and  patentees  were  at  issue ;  and 
their  dissensions  were  not  quelled  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain  closing 
the  house  ;  from  which  Rich,  of  whose  oppressions  the  actors  com- 
plained, was  driven  by  Collier,  the  M.  P.  for  Truro,  to  whom,  for 
political  as  well  as  other  reasons,  a  license  was  granted  to  open 
Drury  Lane.  When  Collier  took  forcible  possession  of  the  house, 
he  found  that  Rich  had  carried  ofl"  most  of  the  scenery  and 
costumes ;  but  he  made  the  best  of  adverse  circumstances  and 
a  company  lacking  Betterton  and  other  able  actors ;  and  he 
opened  Drury  on  November  23d,  1709,  under  the  direction  of 
Aaron  Hill,  with  "  Aurungzebe,"  and  Booth  for  his  leading  tra- 
gedian. 

Booth  wished  to  appear  in  a  new  tragedy,  and  Hill  wrote  in  a 
week,  that  "  Elfrid"  which  the  public  damned  in  a  night.  Hill 
was  always  ready  to  write.  At  Westminster,  he  had  filled  his 
pockets  by  writing  the  exercises  of  young  gentlemen  who  had  not 
wit  for  the  work ;  and  by  and  by  he  will  be  writing  the  "  Bastard," 
for  Savage.  Meanwhile,  here  was  "  Elfrid,"  written  and  con- 
demned. The  author  allowed  that  it  was  "  an  unpruncd  wilder- 
ness of  fancy,  with  here  and  there  a  flower  among  the  leaves,  but 
without  any  fruit  of  judgment."  At  this  time.  Hill  was  a  young 
fellow  of  four  and  twenty,  with  great  experience  and  some  repu- 
tation. A  friendless  young  "  Westminster,"  he  had  at  fifteen 
found  his    way    alone    to  Constantinople,   where  he   obtained  a 


THE    L'NITED   AND   THE   DISUNITED    COMPANIES.     213 

patron  in  the  ambassador,  tlie  sixth  Lord  Paget, — a  distant  relar 
lion  of  t  he  youthful  Aaron.  Under  the  peer's  auspices.  Hill  trav- 
elled extensively  in  the  East;  and  subsequently,  ere  he  was  yet 
twenty,  accompanied  Sir  William  Wentworth,  as  travelling  tutor, 
over  most  of  Europe.  Later,  his  poem  of  "  Camillus,"  in  defence 
of  Lord  Peterborough,  procured  for  him  the  post  of  secretaiy  to 
that  brave  and  eccentric  peer,  with  whom  he  remained  till  his 
mamage.  Then  Aaron  lived  with  a  divided  allegiance  to  his  wife 
and  the  stage,  for  the  improvement  of  which  he  had  many  an  im- 
practicable theory.  He  would  willingly  have  written  a  tragedy 
for  Booth  once  a  week. 

Tragedies  not  being  in  request.  Hill  tried  farce,  and  produced 
his  "  Walking  Statue,"  a  screamer,  as  improbable  as  his  "  Elfiid" 
was  unpruned.  The  audience  would  not  tolerate  it ;  and  Hill 
came  before  them  in  a  few  days  with  a  comedy — "  Trick  upon 
Trick,"  at  which  the  house  howled  rather  than  laughed.  Where- 
upon, Hill  new-nibbed  his  pen,  and  addressed  himself  to  com- 
position again. 

The  treasury  gained  more  by  the  appearance  of  Elrington,  in 
*'  Oronooko,"  than  by  Hill's  novelties.  Then,  the  trial  of  putting  the 
fairy  dancer,  Santlow,  into  boy's  clothes,  and  giving  her  the  small 
part  of  the  Eunuch  in  "  Valentinian"  to  play,  and  an  epilogue  to 
be  spoken  in  male  attire,  succeeded  so  well,  that  she  Avas  cast  for 
Dorcas  Zeal  in  Charles  Shadwell's  "  Fair  Quaker  of  Deal,"  wherein 
she  took  the  town,  and  won  the  heart  of  Booth.  In  this  character- 
piece  Flip,  the  sea-brute,  is  contracted  with  Beau  Mizen,  the  sea- 
fop,  but  the  latter  is,  in  some  degree,  a  copy  of  Baker's  Maiden, 
the  progenitor  of  the  family  of  Dundreary. 

From  Collier,  there  went  over  to  the  Haymarket,  under  Swiney, 
Betterton,  Wilks,  Cibber,  Doggett,  Mills,  Mrs.  Barry,  Oldfield,  and 
other  actors  of  mark.  Drury  had  opened  with  Dryden.  The 
Queen's  Theatre,  Haymarket,  commenced  its  season  on  the  15th 
of  September,  1709,  with  Shakspeare.  The  play  was  "Othello," 
with  Betterton  in  the  Moor ;  but  oh  !  shade  of  the  bard  of  Avon, 
there  was  between  the  acts  a  performance  bv  "  a  Mr.  Higgins,  a 
posture-master  from  Holland,"  and  the  critics,  silently  admiring 
"  old  Thomas,"  loudly  pronounced  the  feats  of  the  pseudo-Hol- 
lander to  be  "  marvellous."     The  only  great  event  of  the  season 


214  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

was  the  death  of  Bctterton,  soon  after  his  benefit,  on  the  13th  of 
April,  1710,  of  which  I  have  ah-cady  spoken  at  length. 

About  this  period,  the  word  encore  was  introduced  at  the 
operatic  performances  in  the  Haymarket,  and  very  much  objected 
to  by  plain-going  Englishmen.  It  was  also  the  custom  of  some 
who  desired  the  repetition  of  a  song,  to  cry  altra  volta  !  altra 
volta!  The  Italian  phrase  was  denounced  as  vigorously  as  the 
French  exclamation ;  and  a  writer  in  the  Spectator  asks,  when  it 
may  be  proper  for  him  to  say  it  in  English  ?  and  would  it  be  vulgar 
to  shout  again  !  again  ! 

The  season  of  1710-11  was  a  languishing  one.  Players  and 
play -goers  seemed  to  feel  that  the  great  glory  of  the  stage  was  ex- 
tinguished, in  the  death  of  Betterton  and  the  departure  of  Mrs. 
Barry.  Collier,  restless  and  capricious,  gave  up  Drury  Lane  for 
opera  at  the  Haymarket,  Swiney  exchanging  with  him.  The 
united  company  of  actors  assembling  at  the  former,  contributed 
£200  a  year  as  a  sort  of  compensation  to  Collier,  as  well  as  refrain- 
ing from  playing  on  a  Wednesday  when  an  opera  was  given  on 
that  night.  The  Thursday  audiences  were  all  the  larger  for  this ; 
but  the  inferior  actors,  who  were  paid  by  the  day,  felt  the  hard- 
ship of  this  arrangement,  and  noblemen,  who  espoused  the  part 
of  the  English  players  against  the  foreign  singers,  expressed  an 
opinion,  as  they  walked  about  behind  the  scenes,  that  "  it  was 
shameful  to  take  part  of  the  actors'  bread  fi'om  them,  to  support 
the  silly  diversions  of  people  of  quality." 

Booth  and  Powell  shared  the  inheritance  of  Betterton,  and  Mrs. 
]>radshaw  succeeded  to  that  of  Mrs.  Barry ;  but  Mrs.  Porter  was 
soon  to  dispute  it  with  her.  The  old  stock  pieces  were  well  cast, 
but  no  new  play  obtained  toleration  for  above  a  night  or  two. 
Mrs.  Centlivre's  "  Marplot,"  a  poor  sequel  to  the  "  Busy  Body," 
brought  her  nothing  more  substantial .  than  a  dedication  fee  of 
£40  fi-om  the  Earl  of  Portland,  the  son  of  William  III.'s  "Ben- 
tinck."  This  was  more  than  Johnson  obtained  for  dedicating 
his  condemned  comedy,  the  "  Generous  Husband,"  to  the  last  of 
the  three  Lords  Ashburnham,  who  were  alive  in  1710.  Poor 
Elkanah  Settle,  too,  pensioned  poet  of  the  city,  and  a  brother  of 
the  Charterhouse,  was  employed  by  Booth  to  adapt  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher's  "  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle,"  which  Elkanat 


THE    UNITED   AND  THE   DISUNITED   COMPANIES.       215 

transformed  to  the  "  City  Ramble,"  Booth  playing  Rinaldo. 
Settle  was  so  unpopular  at  this  time,  that  he  brouglit  out  his  play 
in  the  summer  season  when  the  town  was  scantily  peopled.  The 
only  result  was  that  it  was  damned  by  a  thin  house  instead  of  a 
crowded  one. 

At  the  close  of  the  season  Swiney  returned  to  the  opera ;  Col- 
lier to  Drury  Lane,  under  a  new  license  to  himself,  Wilks,  Cibber 
and  Doggett.  Collier  withdrew,  however,  from  the  management, 
and  the  three  actors  named  paid  him  £700  a  year  for  doing 
nothing.  From  this  time  may  be  dated  the  real  prosperity  of  the 
sole  and  united  company  of  actors,  for  whom  a  halcyon  score  of 
years  was  now  beginning.  On  the  other  hand,  the  opera  only 
brought  ruin,  and  drove  into  exile  its  able  but  unlucky  manager, 
Swiney. 


21 G  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

UNION,    STRENGTH,    PROSPERITT. 

Naturally  and  justifiablv  jubilant  is  Colley  Gibber  when  giving 
the  history  of  the  united  companies.  That  union  led  to  a  pros- 
perity of  twenty  years,  though  the  union  itself  did  not  last  so  long. 
We  now  find  houses  crowded  be3fond  any  thing  known  to  that 
generation ;  and  that  not  so  much  from  surpassing  excellence  on 
the  part  of  the  actors,  as  fi-om  their  zeal,  industry,  and  the  willing- 
ness with  which  they  worked  together.  This  success  doubled  the 
salaries  of  the  comedians,  and  "  in  the  twenty  years,  while  we  were 
our  own  directors,"  says  Colley,  with  honest  pride,  "  we  never 
had  a  creditor  that  had  occasion  to  come  twice  for  his  bill ;  every 
Monday  morning  discharged  us  of  all  commands,  before  we  took  a 
shilling  for  our  own  use." 

These  halcyon  days  had,  no  doubt,  their  little  passing  clouds ; 
some  prejudices  and  jealousies  would  arise  among  the  leaders,  as 
exccllpnce  began  to  manifest  itself  from  below;  but  these,  as  Cib- 
ber  remarks,  with  a  lofty  philosophy,  were  "  frailties,  which  socie- 
ties of  a  higher  consideration,  while  they  are  composed  of  men, 
will  never  be  entirely  free  from."  Cibber  and  his  fellows  deserved 
to  prosper.  Although  they  enjoyed  a  monopoly  they  did  not 
abuse  it;  and  £1,500  profit  to  each  of  the  three  managers,  in  one 
year,  the  greatest  sum  ever  yet  so  realized  on  the  English  stage, 
showed  what  might  be  done,  without  the  aid  of  "  those  barbarous 
entertainments,"  of  acrobats  and  similar  personages,  for  which  the 
dignified  Cibber  had  the  most  profound  and  wholesome  horror. 

While  the  management  was  in  the  hands  of  Cibber,  Wilks,  and 
Doggctt,  the  good  temper  of  the  first  was  imperturbable.  He 
yielded,  or  seemed  to  yield,  to  the  hot  hastiness  of  Wilks,  and 
lent  himself  to  tlie  captious  waywardness  of  Doggett.  However 
impracticable  the  latter  was,  Cibber  always  left  a  way  open  to 
reconciliation.      In  the   very   bitterest  of  their  feuds,   "  I  nevei 


UNION,    STRENGTH,    PROSPERITY.  217 

failed  to  give  him  my  hat  and  '  your  servant,^  whenever  I  met 
him,  neither  of  which  he  would  ever  return  for  above  a  year  after; 
but  I  still  persisted  in  my  usual  salutation,  without  obsei-ving 
whether  it  was  civilly  received  or  not."  Doggett  would  sit  sullen 
and  silent,  at  the  same  table  with  Gibber,  at  Will's — the  young 
gentlemen  of  the  town  loitering  about  the  room,  to  listen  to  {\w 
critics,  or  look  at  the  actors — and  Gibber  would  treat  the  (.'•! 
player  with  deference,  till  the  latter  was  graciously  pleased  to  be 
softened,  and  asked  for  a  pinch  from  Colley's  box,  in  token  of 
reconciliation. 

Almost  the  only  word  approaching  to  complaint  advanced  by 
Gibber  refers  to  public  criticism.  The  newspapers,  and  especially 
Mist''s  Journal,  he  says,  "  took  upon  them  very  often  to  censure 
our  management,  with  the  same  freedom  and  severity  as  if  we  had 
been  so  many  ministers  of  state."  This  is  thoroughly  Gibberian 
in  humor  and  expression.  For  these  critics,  however,  Colley  had 
a  supreme  contempt.  Wilks  and  Booth,  who  succeeded  Doggett, 
were  more  sensitive,  and  would  fain  have  made  reply ;  but  Gibber 
remarked  that  the  noise  made  by  the  critics  was  a  sign  of  the 
ability  and  success  of  the  management.  If  we  were  insignificant, 
said  he,  and  played  only  to  empty  houses,  these  fellows  would  be 
silent. 

When  the  fashion  of  patronizing  the  folly  of  pantomimes  came 
in,  Gibber  reluctantly  produced  one  at  Drury  Lane,  but  only  "  as 
crutches  to  the  plays."  In  the  regular  drama  itself,  it  seemed  im- 
material to  him  what  he  acted,  so  that  the  piece  was  well  support- 
ed ;  and  accordingly  when  the  "  Orphan"  was  revived,  and  the 
town  had  just  been  falsely  told  that  Gibber  was  dead,  "I  quietly 
stole  myself,"  he  says,  "  into  the  part  of  the  Ghaplain,  which 
I  had  not  been  seen  in  for  many  years  before  ;"  and  as  the  aud- 
ience received  hun  with  delight,  Golley  was  satisfied  and  trium- 
phant. 

In  the  first  season  the  poets  were  less  successful  than  the  play- 
ers; Johnson's  "Wife's  Relief,"  and  Mrs.  Gentlivre's  "Perplexed 
Lovers,"  were  failures.  But  the  lady  fell  with  some  eclat.  The 
epilogue  produced  more  sensation  than  the  play.  Prince  Eugene 
was  then  in  England,  and  to  Mrs.  Oldfield  were  intrusted  lines 
complimentary  to  the  military  talents  of  the  Prince,  and  his 
Vol.  I. — 10 


218  doran's  annals  of  thp:  stage. 

brother  in  arms,  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  Political  feuds  were 
then  so  embittered,  that  the  managers  were  afraid  to  allow  the 
epilogue  to  be  spoken ;  but  on  the  second  night,  they  fortified 
themselves  by  the  Chamberlain's  license,  and  brave  Mistress  Old- 
field  delivered  it,  in  spite  of  menacing  letters  addressed  to  her. 
The  piece  fell ;  but  the  authoress  printed  it,  with  a  tribute  of 
rhymed  homage  to  the  prince,  who  acknowledged  the  same  by 
sending  her  a  handsome  and  heavy  gold  snuff-box,  with  this  in- 
scription : — "  The  present  of  his  Highness  Prince  Eugene  of  Savoy 
to  Susanna  Centlivre."  Those  heavy  boxes — some  ol  them  fur- 
nished with  a  tube  and  spring  for  shooting  the  snuff  up  the  nose, 
were  then  in  fashion,  and  prince  could  hardly  give  more  fitting 
present  to  poetess  than  a  snuff-box,  for  which — 

"Distant  climes  their  various  arts  employ, 
To  adorn  and  to  complete  the  modish  toy. 
Hinges  with  close-wrought  joints  from  Paris  come, 
Pictures  dear  bought  from  "Venice  and  from  Rome. 
Hi  ill  *  *  *  * 

Some  think  the  part  too  small  of  modish  sand, 
Which  at  a  niggard  pinch  they  can  command. 
Nor  can  their  fingers  for  that  task  suffice, 
Their  nose  too  greedy,  not  their  hand  too  nice, 
To  such  a  height  with  these  is  fashion  grown, 
They  feed  their  very  nostrils  with  a  spoon." 

So  sang  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wesley,  in  liis  somewhat  indelicate 
satire  on  snuff,  addressed  to  his  sister,  Keziah.  Mrs.  Centlivre's 
box  probably  figured  at  Drury  Lane,  and  in  very  good  company, 
with  other  boxes  carried  by  ladies ;  for,  says  the  poet — 

"  They  can  enchant  the  fair  to  such  degree, 
Scarce  more  admired  could  French  romances  be, 
Scarce  scandal  more  beloved  or  darling  flattery; 
Whether  to  th'  India  House  they  take  their  way. 
Loiter  i'  the  Park,  or  at  the  toilet  stay, 
Whether  at  church  they  shino,  or  sparkle  at  the  play." 

Tlie  great  night  of  this  season  was  that  in  which  Philips'  version 
of  Racine's  "Andromaque  was  played — the  l7th  of  March,  1712. 
Of  the  "  Distressed  Mother,"  the  following  was  the  original  cast 


UNION,    STRENGTH,    PROSPERITY.  219 

— Orestes,  Powell ;  Pyrrhus,  Booth ;  Pylades,  Mills ;  Andromache, 
Mrs.  Oldfield ;  Hermione,  Mrs.  Porter.  The  English  piece  is  even 
duller  than  the  French  one  ;  but  there  is  great  scope  in  it  for 
good  declamatory  actors,  and  Booth  especially  led  the  town  on 
this  night  to  see  in  him  the  undoubted  successor  of  Bettertou. 

All  that  could  be  done  to  render  success  assured,  was  done  on 
this  occasion,  not  only  by  the  poet,  but  by  his  friends.  Before 
the  tragedy  was  acted,  the  Spectator  informed  the  public  that  a 
master-piece  was  about  to  be  represented.  On  the  first  night, 
there  was  a  packed  audience  of  hearty  supporters.  Dui'ing  the 
run  of  the  play,  the  Spectator  related  the  effect  the  tender  tale 
had  had  on  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley. 

We  learn  from  Addison,  in  the  puff  preliminary,  that  at  the 
reading  of  the  "  Distressed  Mother,"  by  one  of  the  actors, — the 
players,  who  listened,  were  moved  to  tears,  and  that  the  reader, 
in  his  turn,  was  so  overcome  by  his  emotions  "  that  he  was  fre- 
quently obliged  to  lay  down  the  book,  and  pause,  to  recover  him- 
self and  give  vent  to  the  humanity  which  rose  in  him  at  some 
irresistible  touches  of  the  imag-ined  sorrow."  On  the  first  night 
of  its  being  played,  the  performance  was  said  to  be  "  at  the  desu-e 
of  several  ladies  of  quality."  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  with  Will 
Honeycombe  and  Captain  Sentry,  backed  by  two  or  three  old 
sers'ants, — the  Captain  wearing  the  sword  he  had  wielded  at 
Steinkirk,  are  described  as  being  in  the  pit,  early — four  o'clock, 
before  the  house  was  full  and  the  candles  were  lighted.  There 
was  access  then  for  the  public  for  a  couple  of  hours  before  the 
curtain  rose.  The  Knight  thought  the  King  of  France  could  not 
strut  it  moi'e  imposingly  than  Booth  in  Pyrrhusv  He  found  the 
plot  so  ingeniously  complicated,  that  he  could  not  guess  how  it 
would  end,  or  what  would  become  of  PyrrHus.  His  sympathies 
oscillated  between  the  ladies,  with  a  word  of  smart  censure  now 
and  then  for  either ;  calling  Andromache  a  perverse  widow,  and 
anon,  Hermione  "  a  notable  young  baggage."  Turgid  as  this 
English  adaptation  now  seems, — to  Addison,  its  simplicity  was 
one  of  its  gi-eat  merits.  "  Why !"  says  Sir  Roger,  "  there  is  not 
a  single  sentence  in  the  play  that  I  don't  know  the  meaning  of!"  It 
Avas  listened  to  with  a  "  very  remarkable  silence  and  stillness," 
broken  only  by  the  applause;  and  a  comphment  is  paid  to  Mills, 


220  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

who  played  Pylades,  in  the  remark,  "  thouoh  lie  speaks  but  little, 
I  like  the  old  fellow  in  whiskers  as  well  as  any  of  tlicin." 

The  epilogue,  spoken  by  Mrs.  Oldfie'd,  and  undoing  all  the  soft 
emotions  wrought  by  the  tragedy,  w;i.s  ix^peated  twice,  for  several 
consecutive  nights.  The  audience  could  not  have  enough  of  it, 
and  long  years  after,  they  called  for  it,  Avhenever  the  piece  was 
revived.  Budgell  was  the  reputed  author,  but  Tonson  printed  it 
with  Addison's  name  as  the  writer.  The  latter,  however,  ordered 
that  of  I5udgell  to  be  restored,  "  that  it  might  add  weight  to  the 
sohcitation  which  he  was  then  making  for  a  place." 

Thus  Ambrose  Philips  showed  that  he  could  write  something 
more  vigorous  than  the  Pastorals,  which  had  given  him  a  name 
while  at  the  University,  lie  took  higher  rank  among  the  wits  at 
Button's  Coffee  House,  and  had  no  reason  to  fear  the  censure  or 
ridicule  of  men  like  Henry  Carey,  who  fastened  upon  him  the 
name  of  Namby  Pamby.  Success  made  the  author  not  less  sol- 
emn, but  more  pompous.  He  wore  the  sword,  which  he  could 
boldly  use,  although  his  foes  called  him  Quaker  Philips, — with  an 
air ;  and  the  successful  author  of  a  new  tragedy  could  become 
arrogant  enough  to  hang  a  rod  up  at  Button's,  and  threaten  Pope 
with  a  degrading  application  of  it,  for  having  expressed  contempt 
of  the  author's  Pastorals. 

\Vhatever  may  be  thought  of  this,  Rowe  and  Philips  were  the 
first  authors  of  the  last  century  who  wrote  tragedies  which  have 
been  played  in  our  own  times.  But  a  greater  than  either  was  ris- 
ing ;  for  Addison  was  giving  the  last  touches  to  "  Cato  ;"  and  he, 
with  Steele,  and  others,  was  imparting  his  views  and  ideas  on  the 
subject  to  favorite  actors  over  tavern  dinners. 

At  the  close  of  this  season  was  finished  the  brief  career  of  an 
actor,  who  was  generally  considered  to  possess  rare  talents,  but 
who  was  variously  judged  of  bv  such  nomp(!tent  judicial  authority 
as  Steele  and  Cihber.  I  allude  to  Richard  Estcourt.  His  London 
career  as  a  player  lasted  little  more  than  half-a-dozen  years, 
during  which  he  distinguished  himself  by  creating  Serjeant  Kite 
and  Sir  Francis  Gripe.  Downes  asserts  that  he  was  a  born  actor. 
Steele  mournfully  says,  "  If  I  were  to  speak  of  merit  neglected, 
misapplied,  or  misunderstood,  might  I  not  say  that  Estcourt  has  a 
great  capacity  ?  but  it  is  not  the  interest  of  those  who  bear  a  figure 


UNION.    STRENGTPI,    PROSPERITY.  221 

on  the  stage  that  his  talents  wore  understood.  Tt  is  their  business 
to  impose  upon  him  what  cannot  become  him,  or  keep  out  of  his 
hands  any  thing  in  which  he  could  shine."  Cliotwood  alludes  tc 
his  habit  of  interpolating  jokes  and  catches  of  his  own,  which 
raised  a  laugh  among  the  general  public,  but  which  made  critics 
frown.  Gibber  has  been  accused  of  being  unjust  to  him,  but 
Colley's  judgment  seems  to  be  rendered  with  his  usual  fairness, 
lucidity,  and  skill. 

"  This  man,"  says  Gibber  in  his  Apology,  "  was  so  amazing  and 
extraordinary  a  mimic,  that  no  man  or  woman,  from  the  coquette 
to  the  privy-counsellor,  ever  moved  or  spoke  before  him,  but  he 
could  carry  their  voice,  look,  mien,  and  motion,  instantly  into 
another  company.  I  have  heard  him  make  long  harangues  and 
form  various  arguments,  even  in  the  manner  of  thinking,  of  an 
eminent  pleader  at  the  bar,  with  every  the  least  article  and  singu- 
larity of  his  utterance  so  perfectly  imitated  that  he  was  the  very 
alter  ipse,  scarce  to  be  distinguished  from  his  original.  Yet  more, 
I  have  seen  upon  the  margin  of  the  written  part  of  Falstaff,  which 
he  acted,  his  own  notes  and  observations  upon  almost  every  speech 
of  it,  describing  the  true  spirit  of  the  humor,  and  with  what  tone 
of  voice,  with  what  look  or  gesture,  each  of  them  ought  to  be  de- 
livered. Yet  in  his  execution  upon  the  stage,  he  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  those  just  ideas  he  had  formed  of  it,  and  almost  through 
the  character  he  labored  under  a  heavy  load  of  flatness.  In  a 
word,  with  all  his  skill  in  mimicry,  and  knowledge  of  what  ought 
to  be  done,  he  never  upon  the  stage  could  bring  it  truly  into 
practice,  but  was,  upon  the  whole,  a  languid,  unaffecting  actor." 

His  Kite,  however,  is  said  to  have  been  full  of  lively,  dashing, 
natural  humor.  Off  the  stage,  Estcourt's  society  was  eagerly 
sought  for,  and  he  was  to  be  met  in  the  best  company,  where,  on 
festive  nights,  he  recited,  gave  his  imitations,  and  was  not  too 
proud  to  pocket  his  guerdon.  The  old  Duke  of  Marlborough 
gladly  held  fellowship  with  Estcourt,  and  as  the  latter  occasionally 
got  guerdon  out  of  the  Duke,  he  must  have  been  a  great  and  very 
affecting  actor  indeed.  It  was  probably  his  spirit  of  good-fellow- 
ship which  induced  him  to  leave  the  stage  (in  1711)  for  another 
calling.  This  change  was  sufficiently  important  for  the  Spectator 
to  notice,  with  a  fine  bit  of  raillery,  too  : — "  Estcourt  has  lain  in. 


222  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

at  the  Bumper,  Coveiit  Garden,  neat,  natural  wines,  to  be  sold 
wholesale,  as  well  as  retail,  by  his  old  seiTant,  trusty  Anthony 
(Aston).  As  Estcourt  is  a  person  altogether  unknowing  in  the 
wine  trade,  it  cannot  but  be  doubted  that  he  will  deliver  the  wine 
in  the  same  natural  purity  that  he  receives  it  from  the  merchants, 
&c." 

On  the  foundation  of  the  "Beef  Steak  Club,"  Estcourt  was  ap- 
pointed Providore  ;  and  in  the  exercise  of  this  office  to  the  chief 
wits  and  leading  men  of  the  nation,  he  wore  a  small  gold  gridiron, 
suspended  around  his  neck  by  a  green  silk  riband.  Dr.  King  al- 
ludes to  the  company,  their  qualities,  and  the  dignity  of  the  ex- 
actor, in  his  Art  of  Cookery : — 

"  He  that  of  honor,  wit,  and  mirth  partakes, 
May  be  a  fit  companion  o'er  beef  steaks. 
His  name  may  be  to  future  times  unroll'd, 
In  Estcourt's  book,  whose  gridiron's  made  of  gold." 

Estcourt  died  in  1712,  and  was  buried  in  the  "yard"  of  St. 
Paul's,  Covent  Garden.  Near  him  lie  Kynaston  and  Wycherley, 
Susanna  Centlivre,  Wilks,  Macklin,  and  other  once  vivacious  stage 
celebrities  of  later  times. 

I  have  already  had  to  notice,  and  shall  have  to  do  so  again,  the 
despotic  power  exercised  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain  over  theatri- 
cal affaire.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  instances  presents  itself 
this  year,  in  connection  with  the  Opera  House,  indeed,  but  still 
illQstrative  of  my  subject.  John  Hughes,  who  will  subsequently 
appear  as  a  dramatic  author,  of  purer  pretensions,  had  written  the 
words  for  the  composer  of  "  Calypso  and  Telemachus."  A  crowd 
of  the  "  quality,"  connoisseurs  and  amateurs,  had  attended  the  re- 
liearsal,  with  which  they  were  so  satisfied  that  a  subscription  was 
'  formed  to  support  the  performance  of  the  Opera.  This  aroused 
the  jealousy  of  the  Italian  company  then  in  London,  who  appealed 
for  protection  to  the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  the  then  Chamber- 
lain. 

This  Duke  was  the  Charles  Talbot,  in  whose  house  it  had  been 
decided  that  William  of  Orange  should  be  invited  to  England, 
and  who,  corresponding  with  James  after  William  was  on  the 
throne,  had  been  discovered,  and  forgiven.     He  had  been  loved, 


fJNION,    STRENGTH,    PROSPERITY.  223 

it  is  said,  by  Queen  Mary  and  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough ;  but 
this  able,  gentle,  wayward,  and  one-eyed  statesman,  was  at  this 
present  time  the  husband  of  an  Italian  lady,  and  on  this  fact, 
albeit  she  was  not  a  dulcis  uxor,  the  Italian  singers  founded  their 
hopes.  As  the  lady's  brother  was  hanged  at  Tyburn,  half  a  dozen 
years  later,  for  murdering  his  servant,  Shrewsbury  had  no  great 
cause,  ultimately,  to  be  proud  of  the  connection.  Nevertheless,  it 
served  the  purpose  of  the  foreign  vocalists,  it  would  seem,  as  the 
Chamberlain  protected  their  interests,  and  issued  an  order  for  the 
suppression  of  the  subscription,  adding,  that  the  doors  must  be 
opened  at  the  lowest  play-house  prices,  or  not  at  all.  Even  under 
this  discouragement  the  opera  was  played  with  success,  and  was 
subsequently  revived,  with  good  eftect,  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

Romantic  drama,  light,  bustling  comedy,  with  less  vice  and 
not  much  less  wit  than  of  old,  and  the  severest  classical  trage- 
dy, challenged  the  favor  of  the  town  in  the  Drury  Lane  season 
of  1712-13.  Severe  tragedy  won  the  wreath  from  its  compet- 
itors. 

First  on  the  list  was  fat  Charles  Johnson,  who  was  even  a  more 
frequent  lounger  at  Button's  than  Ambrose  Philips,  and  who  had 
a  play  ready  for  representation  every  year  and  a  half  It  is  a 
curious  fact,  that  his  "  Successful  Pirate,"  a  sort  of  melo-drama,  in 
five  acts,  the  scene  in  Madagascar,  and  the  action  made  up  of 
fighting  and  wooing,  aroused  the  ire  of  the  virtuous  Dennis.  This 
censor  wrote  to  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  complaining  that  in  such 
a  piece  as  the  above  the  stage  was  prostituted,  villany  encouraged, 
and  the  theatre  disgraced ;  that  same  theatre  where,  a  few  nights 
previously,  had  been  acted  the  "  Old  Bachelor,"  and  the  "  Com- 
mittee," which  some  people,  like  Sir  Roger,  considered  a  "  good 
Church  of  England  comedy."  The  piece,  however,  made  no  im- 
pression ;  nor  was  much  greater  effected  by  that  learned  proctor, 
Tavorner's  "  French  Advocates,"  nor  by  the  farcical  "  Humors  of 
the  Array,"  which  the  ex-soldier  Charles  Shadwell  had  partly  con- 
structed out  of  his  own  military  reminiscences,  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk  in  the  Revenue  Office  at  Dublin. 

Equally  indifferent  were  the  public  to  a  comedy  called  the 
"  Wife  of  Bath,"  written  by  a  young  man  who  had  been  a 
mercer's  apprentice  in  the  Strand,  and  who  was  now  house-stew- 


224:  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ard  and  man  of  business  to  the  widowed  Ducliess  of  Monraoulh 
at  her  residence,  no  longer  in  the  mansion  on  the  south  side  of 
Soho  Square,  about  to  be  turned  into  auction  rooms,  but  in  fresh, 
pure,  rustic  Uedge  Lane,  wliich  now,  as  Whitcombe  Street,  lacks 
all  freshness,  purity,  and  rusticity.  The  young  man's  name  was 
Gay ;  but  it  was  not  on  this  occasion  that  he  was  to  make  it 
faiuous. 

In  stern  tragedy,  the  "  Heroic  Daughter,"  founded  on  Corneille's 
"  Cid,"  wrung  no  tears,  and  "  Cinna's  Conspiracy"  raised  no 
emotions.  The  sole  success  of  the  season  in  this  line  was  Addi- 
son's "Cato,"  first  played  on  the  14th  of  April,  1713;  thus  cast: 
Cato,  Booth;  Syphax,  Gibber;  Juba,  Wilks;  Fortius,  Powell; 
Sempronius,  Mills ;  Marcus,  Ryan ;  Decius,  Boman ;  Lucius, 
Keen ;  Marcia,  Mrs.  Oldfield  ;  Lucia,  Mrs.  Porter. 

Of  the  success  of  this  tragedy,  a  compound  of  transcendent 
beauties  and  absurdity,  I  shall  speak,  when  treating  of  Booth, 
apart.  It  established  that  actor  as  the  great  master  of  his  art,  and 
it  brought  into  notice  young  Ryan,  the  intelligent  son  of  an  Irish 
tailor,  a  good  actor,  and  a  true  gentleman.  "  Cato"  had  the  good 
fortune  to  be  represented  by  a  band  of  superior  actors,  who  had 
been  enlightened  by  the  instruction  of  Addison,  and  stimulated  at 
rehearsals,  by  the  sarcasm  of  Swift.  Factions  united  in  applause ; 
purses — not  bouquets — were  presented  to  the  chief  actor,  and  the 
Cato  night  was  long  one  of  the  traditions  about  which  old  players 
loved  to  entertain  all  listeners. 

WhUe  thus  new  glories  were  rising,  old  ones  were  fading  away, 
or  dying  out.  Long-nosed  Tom  Durfey  was  poor  enough  to  be 
grateful  for  a  benefit  given  in  his  behalf,  the  proceeds  of  which 
furnished  him  with  a  fresh  supply  of  sack,  and  strengthened  him 
to  new  attempt  at  song.  About  the  same  time  died  the  last  of  the 
actors  of  the  Cromwellian  times.  Will  Peer,  one  who  was  qualified 
by  nature  to  play  the  Apothecary  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  and  by 
intelligence  to  deliver  with  well -feigned  humility  the  players'  pro- 
logue to  the  play  in  "  Hamlet,"  but  whom  old  age,  good  living, 
and  success  rendered  too  fat  for  the  first,  and  too  jolly  for  the 
second. 

In  the  season  of  1Y13-14,  Booth  was  associated  ni  the  license 
which  Wilks,  Gibber,  and  Doggett  held  at  the  Queen's  pleasure. 


UNION,    STKENGTI],    PKOSPEIUTY.  225 

Doggett  withdrew  on  a  pecuniary  arrangement,  agreed  upon  after 
some  litigation,  and  the  theatre  was  in  the  hands  of  tlie  other 
three  eminent  actors.  The  ohl  pieces  of  this  season  were  ad- 
mirably cast;  of  the  new  pieces  which  were  failures  it  is  not 
necessary  to  speak,  but  of  two  which  have  been  played  with  suc- 
cess from  that  time  down  to  the  last  year,  some  notice  is  required. 
I  allude  to  Rowe's"  Jane  Shore,"  and  Mrs.  Centlivre's  "  Wonder." 
The  tragedy  was  written  after  tlie  poet  had  ceased  to  be  Under- 
Secretary  to  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  and  after  he  had  studied 
Spanish,  in  hopes  of  a  foreign  appointment  through  Halifax,  who, 
according  to  the  story,  only  congratulated  him  on  being  able  to 
read  Don  Quixote  in  the  original !  "  Jane  Shore"  was  brought 
out,  February  2,  I7l4.  Hastings,  Booth;  Dumont,  Wilks; 
Glo'ster,  Gibber ;  Jane  Shore,  Mrs.  Oldfield ;  Alicia,  Mrs.  Porter. 
A  greater  contrast  to  "  Cato"  could  not  have  been  devised  than 
this  domestic  tragedy,  wherein  all  the  unities  are  violated,  the 
language  is  familiar,  and  the  chief  incidents  the  starving  of  a  re- 
pentant wife,  and  the  generosity  of  an  exceedingly  forgiving  hus- 
band. The  audience,  which  was  stirred  by  the  patriotism  of 
"  Cato,"  was  moved  to  delicious  tears  by  the  sufferings  and  sorrow 
of  Jane  Shore,  whose  character  Rowe  has  elevated  in  order  to 
secure  for  her  the  suffi'ages  of  his  hearers.  The  character  was  a 
triumph  for  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who  had  been  trained  to  a  beautiful 
reading  of  her  part  by  Rowe  himself,  who  was  unequalled  as  a 
reader  by  any  poet  save  Lee ;  and  "  Jane  Shore,"  as  a  success 
ranked  only  next  to  "  Cato."  The  third,  sixth,  and  tenth  nights 
were  for  the  author's  benefit.  On  the  first  two  the  boxes  and  pit 
"  were  laid  together,"  admission  half-a-guinea ;  the  third  benefit 
was  "  at  common  prices." 

Much  expectation  had  been  raised  by  this  piece,  and  it  was  real- 
ized to  the  utmost.  It  was  otherwise  with  the  "  Wonder,"  from 
w  hich  little  was  expected,  but  much  success  ensued.  The  sinning 
wife  and  moaning  husband  of  the  tragedy  were  the  lively  lady 
and  the  quick-tempered  lover  of  this  comedy.  The  Violanthe  of 
Mrs.  Oldfield  and  the  Don  FeUx  of  Wilks  were  talked  of  in  every 
cofiee-house.  The  wits  about  the  door,  and  the  young  poets  in 
the  back  room  at  the  new  house  set  up  by  Button,  talked  as 
vivaciously  about  it  as  their  rivals  at  Tom's,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
10* 


226  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  way  ;  and  every  prophecy  they  made  of  the  success  of  the  com- 
edy in  times  to  come,  does  credit  to  them  as  soothsayers. 

The  death  of  Queen  Anne,  on  the  first  of  August,  I7l4,  cannot 
be  said  to  have  prematurely  closed  the  summer  season  of  this  year, 
However,  the  actors  mourned  for  a  month,  and  then  a  portion  of 
them  played  joyously  enough,  for  a  while,  in  Pinkethman's  booth 
at  Southwark  Fair. 

At  this  period  the  stage  lost  a  lady  who  was  as  dear  to  it  as 
Queen  Anne,  namely,  Mrs.  Bradshaw.  Her  departure,  however, 
was  caused  by  marriage,  not  by  death ;  and  the  gentleman  who 
carried  her  oft',  instead  of  being  a  rollicking  gallant,  or  a  worthless 
peer,  was  a  staid,  solemn,  worthy  antiquary,  Martin  Folkes,  who 
rather  surprised  the  town  by  wedding  young  Mistress  Bradshaw. 
The  lady  had  been  on  the  stage  about  eighteen  years ;  she  had 
trodden  it  from  early  childhood,  and  always  with  unblemished 
reputation.  She  had  her  reward  in  an  excellent,  sensible,  and 
wealthy  husband,  to  whom  her  exemplary  and  prudent  conduct 
endeared  her;  and  the  happiness  of  this  couple  was  well  estab- 
lished. Probably,  when  Martin  was  away  on  Friday  evenings,  at 
the  Young  Devil  Tavern,  where  the  members  of  the  society  of 
Antiquaries  met,  upon  "pain  of  forfeiture  of  sixpence,"  Mrs. 
Folkes  sat  quietly  at  home,  thinking  without  sadness  of  the  by- 
gone times  when  she  won  applause  as  the  originator  of  the  char- 
acters of  Corinna,  in  the  "  Conspirator,"  Sylvia,  in  the  "  Double 
Gallant,"  and  Arabella  Zeal,  in  the  "  Fair  Quaker."  In  other  re- 
pects.  Mistress  Bradshaw  is  one  of  the  happy,  honest  women  who 
have  no  history. 

If  the  age  of  Queen  Anne  was  not  quite  so  fully  the  golden  age 
of  authors  as  it  has  been  supposed  to  be,  it  was  still  remarkable 
for  a  patronage  of  literature  hitherto  unparalleled.  Addison,  Con- 
greve,  Gay,  Ambrose  Philips,  Rowe,  were  among  the  dramatic 
authors  who,  with  men  of  much  humbler  pretensions,  held  public 
offices,  were  patronized  by  the  great,  or  lived  at  their  ease.  With 
the  death  of  this  Queen,  the  patent  or  license,  held  by  Wilks, 
Gibber,  Booth  and  Doggett,  died  also.  In  the  new  license, 
Steele,  who,  since  we  last  met  with  him  at  the  play,  had  endured 
variety  of  fortune,  was  made  a  partner.  He  had  married  that 
second  wife  whom  he  treated  so  politely  in  his  little  failures  of 


UNION,   STRENGTH,    PROSPERITY.  227 

allegiance.  He  bad  establislicd  the  Tatlcr,  co-operated  in  the 
Spectator,  had  begun  and  terminated  the  Guardian,  and  had 
started  the  Engluhman.  He  had  served  the  Duke  of  Marlborough 
in  and  out  of  office,  and  had  been  elected  M.  P.  for  Stockbridge, 
after  nobly  resigning  his  Commissionership  of  Stamps,  and  his 
pension  as  "  servant  to  the  late  Prince  George  of  Denmark."  He 
had  been  expelled  the  House  for  writing  what  the  House  called 
seditious  pamphlets,  and  had  then  returned  to  literature,  and  now 
to  occupation  as  a  manager.  From  the  new  government,  under 
tlie  new  King,  by  whom  he  was  soon  after  knighted,  Steele  had 
influence  enough  to  ultimately  obtain  a  patent,  in  the  names  of 
himself.  Booth,  Wilks  and  Gibber,  which  protected  them  from 
some  small  tyrannies  with  which  they  were  occasionally  visited  by 
the  officials  in  the  Lord  Ghamberlain's  office. 

The  season  of  1714-15  was  not  especially  remarkable,  save  for 
this,  that  the  great  actors  who  were  patentees  ft-equently  played 
small  parts,  in  order  to  give  young  actors  a  chance.  It  was  not 
given,  however,  to  every  young  actor;  for,  on  the  20th  of  April, 
1715,  when  Rowe's  "  Lady  Jane  Grey"  was  produced  (Dudley, 
Booth ;  Lady  Jane,  Mrs.  Oldfield),  the  very  insignificant  part  of 
the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  was  played  by  a  new  actor  from  Ire- 
land,— one  James  Quin,  who  was  destined  to  equal  Booth  in  some 
parts,  and  to  be  surpassed  in  some,  by  an  actor  yet  at  school, — • 
David  Garrick. 

Chai'les  Johnson  was,  of  course,  ready  with  a  comedy,  stolen 
from  various  sources, — "  Country  Lasses."  Gay,  who  had  re- 
turned from  Hanover  with  the  third  Earl  of  Clarendon,  whose 
secretary  he  had  become,  after  leaving  the  service  of  the  Duchess 
of  Monmouth,  produced  his  hilarious  burlesque  of  old  and  modern 
tragedies, — the  "What  d'ye  call  It?"  The  satire  of  this  piece 
was  so  fine,  that  deaf  gentlemen  who  saw  the  tragic  action  and 
could  iiot  hear  the  words,  and  the  new  sovereign  and  court  who 
lieard  the  words  but  could  not  understand  their  sense,  were  put 
into  great  perplexity  ;  while  the  honest  galleries,  reached  by  the 
solemn  sounds,  and  taking  manner  for  matter,  were  affected  to  such 
tears  as  they  could  shed,  at  the  most  farcical  and  high-sounding 
similes.  It  was  only  after  awhile  that  the  joke  was  comprehended, 
and  that  the  "What  d'ye  call  It?"  was  seen  to  be  a  capital  bur- 


228  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

lesquc  of  "  Venice  Preserved."     The  very  Templars,  wlio  of  course 
comprehended  it  all,  from  the  first,  and  went  to  hiss  the  piece,  for 
the  honor  of  Otway,  could  not  do  so,  for  laughing ;  and  this  only 
perplexed  the  more  the  matter-of-fact  people,  not  so  apt  to  dis 
cover  a  joke. 

Rowe's  "  Lady  .Jane"  did  not  prove  so  attractive  as  "  Jane 
Shore."  There  were  only  innocence  and  calamity  wherewith  to 
move  the  audience ;  no  guilt ;  no  profound  intrigue.  But  there 
is  much  force  in  some  of  the  scenes.  The  very  variety  of  the 
latter,  indeed,  was  alleged  against  the  author,  as  a  defect,  by  the 
many  slaves  of  the  unity  of  time  and  place.  It  was  objected  to 
Uowe,  that  in  his  violation  of  the  unities  he  went  beyond  other 
offenders, — not  only  changing  the  scene  with  the  acts,  but  varying 
it  within  the  acts.  For  this,  however,  lie  had  good  authority  in 
older  and  better  dramatists.  "  To  change  the  scene,  as  is  done  by 
Kowe,  in  the  middle  of  an  act,  is  to  add  more  acts  to  the  play ; 
•><nce  an  act  is  so  much  of  tlie  business  as  is  transacted  without 
Interruption.  Rowe,  by  this  license,  easily  extricates  himself  from 
difficulties,  as  in  'Lady  Jane  Grey,'  when  we  have  been  tenilied 
.  y  all  the  dreadful  pomp  of  public  execution,  and  are  wondering 
how  the  heroine  or  poet  will  proceed ;  no  sooner  has  Jane  pro- 
nounced some  proplietic  rhymes  than — pass  and  be  gone — the 
scene  closes,  and  Pembroke  and  Gardner  are  turned  out  upon  the 
stage."  The  critic  wished  to  stay  and  witness  a  "public  ex- 
ecution," not  satisfied  with  the  pathos  of  the  speech  uttered  by 
Jane,  and  which,  for  tenderness,  sets  the  scene  in  fine  contrast 
with  that  of  the  quarrelling  and  reconciliation  between  Pembroke 
and  Guilford.  Rowe's  Jane  Grey  interests  the  heart  more  fully 
than  Jane  Shore  or  Calista;  but  the  last  two  ladies  have  a  touch 
of  boldness  about  them,  in  which  the  first,  from  her  very  in- 
nocence, is  wanting ;  and  audiences  are,  therefore,  more  excited 
by  the  loudly  proclaimed  wrongs  of  the  women  who  have  gone 
astray  than  by  the  tender  protests  of  the  victim  who  sufters  for 
the  crimes  of  others. 

George  Powell  ended  his  seven  and  twentieth  season  this  year, 
at  the  close  of  which  he  died.  For  the  old  actor  gone,  a  young 
actress  appeared, — Mrs.  Horton,  "  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  that  ever  trod  the  stage."      She  had  been  a  "  stroller," 


I'h70N,   STEENGTH,    PROSPERITY.  229 

ranting  tragedy  in  barns  and  countiy  towns,  and  playing  Cupid 
in  a  bootli  at  suburban  fairs.  The  attention  of  managers  was  di- 
rected towards  ber;  and  Booth,  after  seeing  her  act  in  South- 
wark,  engaged  lier  for  Drury  Lane,  where  her  presence  was  more 
agreeable  to  the  public  than  particularly  pleasant  to  dear  Mra. 
Oldfield. 


00  doran's  annals  of  tke  stage. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

COMPETITION,    AND    WHAT    CAME    OF    IT. 

"  Augustus,"  as  it  was  the  fashion  to  call  George  L,  "by  per- 
forming a  justifiable  act,  inflicted  some  injury  this  year,  by  restor- 
ing the  Letters  Patent  of  Charles  11.  to  Christopher  Rich,  of 
which  the  latter  had  been  deprived,  and  under  which  his  son, 
John,  opened  the  revived  theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  on  the 
18th  December,  1714,  with  the  "  Recruiting  Officer."  The  en- 
larged stage  was  "  superbly  adorned  with  looking-glasses  on  both 
sides  ;"  a  circumstance,  which  Quin  said,  "  was  an  excellent  trap  to 
such  actresses  who  admired  their  own  persons  more  than  they  at- 
tended to  the  duties  of  their  profession."  Some  good  actors  left 
Drury  for  the  Fields ; — Keen,  the  two  Bullocks,  Pack,  Spiller, 
Cory,  Knap,  Mrs.  Rogers,  and  Mrs.  Knight.  Cibber  rather  con- 
temptuously says  of  such  of  the  above  as  he  names,  that  "  they 
none  of  them  had  more  than  a  negative  merit, — being  able  only 
to  do  us  more  harm  by  leaving  us  without  notice,  than  they  could 
do  us  good  by  remaining  with  us ;  for,  though  the  best  of  them 
could  not  support  a  play,  the  worst  of  them,  by  their  absence, 
could  maim  it, — as  the  loss  of  the  least  pin  in  a  watch  may  ob- 
struct its  motion." 

John  Rich's  company  in  the  Fields  either  played  old  pieces,  or 
adaptations  from  them,  or  "  from  the  French  ;"  none  of  which  de- 
served even  a  passing  word,  except  a  roaring  farce — pieces  which 
now  grew  popular — called  "  Love  in  a  Sack,"  by  Griffin,  whom  I 
notice  not  as  an  indifferent  author,  but  as  an  excellent  comedian, 
who  made  his  first  appearance  in  a  double  capacity.  Griffin  may 
also  be  noticed  under  a  double  qualification.  lie  was  a  gentle- 
man and  a  glazier.  His  ftithcr  was  a  Norfolk  rector,  and  had 
been  chaplain  to  the  Earl  of  Yarmouth, — that  gallant  Sir  Rob- 
ert Paston,  who  was  in  France  and  Flanders  with  James,  Duke 
of  York.     In  the  Paston  Free  School,  at  North  Walsham,  Griffin 


COMPETITION,    AXD   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  231 

learnt  his  "  rudiments,"  having  done  which,  his  sire  apprenticed 
him  to  the  useful  but  not  dignified  calling  of  a  glazier.  The 
"  'prentice  lad,"  disgusted  at  the  humiliation,  ran  away,  took  to 
strolling,  found  his  way,  after  favorable  report,  to  Rich's  theatre, 
and  there  proved  so  good  an  actor,  that  the  Drury  Lane  manage- 
ment ultimately  lured  him  away  to  a  stage  where  able  competitors 
polished  him  into  still  greater  brilliancy.  The  season  concluded 
on  the  last  day  of  July,  1715,  with  a  "benefit  for  Tim  Buck,  to 
release  him  out  of  prison." 

In  the  following  October,  Drury  commenced  a  season  which, 
.save  a  few  days  of  summer  vacation,  extended  to  the  close  of 
August,  I7l6.  During  this  time,  Shakspeare's  best  plays  were 
frequently  acted,  old  comedies  revived  with  success,  and  obscure 
farces  played  and  consigned  to  oblivion.  The  great  attempt,  if 
not  success,  of  the  season,  was  the  comedy  of  the  "  Drummer,  or 
the  Haunted  House,"  first  played  in  March,  I7l6,  and  not 
known  to  be  Addison's  till  Steele  published  the  fact,  after  the 
author's  death.  Tonson,  however,  knew  or  suspected  the  truth, 
for  he  gave  £50  for  the  copyright.  Wilks,  Gibber,  Mills  and  Mrs. 
Oldfield,  could  not  secure  a  triumph  for  the  play — which  Steele 
thought  was  more  disgraceful  to  the  stage  than  to  the  comedy. 
There  is  a  novel  mixture  of  sentiment,  caricature,  and  farcical  in- 
cident in  this  piece.  Warton  describes  it  as  "  a  just  picture  of 
life  and  real  manners ;  where  the  poet  never  speaks  in  his  own 
person,  or  totally  drops  or  forgets  a  character,  for  the  sake  of  in- 
troducing a  brilliant  simile  or  acute  reiuark ;  where  no  train  is  laid 
for  wit,  no  Jeremys  or  Bens  are  suffered  to  appear."  More  natu- 
ral, it  was  less  brilliant  than  the  artificial  comedies  of  Congreve; 
but  its  failure  probably  vexed  the  author,  as  it  certainly  annoyed 
the  publisher.  Tickell  omitted  it  from  his  edition  of  Addison's 
works,  but  Steele  gave  these  reasons  for  ascribing  it  to  the  latter ; 
they  are  a  little  confused,  but  they  probably  contain  the  truth : — 
"  If  I  remember  right,  the  fifth  act  was  written  in  a  week's  time. 
.  .  .  He  would  walk  about  his  room,  and  dictate  in  language 
with  as  much  freedom  and  ease  as  any  one  could  write  it  down. 
...  I  have  been  often  thus  employed  by  him.  ...  I  will 
put  all  my  credit  among  men  of  wit,  for  the  truth  of  my  averment, 
when  I  presume  to  say,  that  no   one  but  Mi\  Addison  was  in  anv 


232  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

other  way  the  writer  of  the  '  Dnmimer.'  ...  At  the  same  time,  I 
will  allow  that  he  has  sent  for  rae  .  .  .  and  told  me  that  '  a 
gentleman,  then  in  the  room,  had  written  a  play  that  he  was  sure  I 
would  like ;  but  it  was  to  be  a  secret ;  and  he  knew  I  would  take  as 
much  pains,  since  he  recommended  it,  as  I  would  for  him.'  " 

At  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  the  season  of  1715-16  had  this  of  re- 
markable in  it,  that  John  Rich  revived  the  "  Prophetess,"  as  it  en- 
abled him  to  display  his  ability  in  the  introduction  and  manage- 
ment of  machinery,  and  his  success  in  raising  the  prices  of  admis- 
sion. Bullock's  farce,  the  "  Cobbler  of  I'reston,"  was  begun  on  a 
Friday,  finished  the  next  day,  and  plaj'ed  on  the  Tuesday  follow- 
ing— in  order  to  anticipate  Charles  Johnson's  farce — like  this,  de- 
rived from  the  introduction  to  the  "  Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  at 
Drury  Lane.  Of  the  other  plays — one,  the  "  Fatal  Vision,"  was 
wi-itten  by  Aaron  Hill,  who,  having  lost  property  and  temper  in 
a  project  how  to  extract  olive-oil  from  beech-nuts,  endeavored 
to  inculcate  in  his  piece  the  wrongfulness  of  giving  way  to  rash 
designs  and  evil  passions.  This  play  he  dedicated  to  the  two 
most  merciless  critics  of  the  day,  Dennis  and  Gildon.  Then  of 
the  "Perfidious  Brother,"  it  is  only  to  be  stated  that  it  was  a  bad 
play  stolen  by  young  Theobald  from  Mestayer,  a  watchmaker, 
who  had  lent  him  the  manuscript.  That  an  attorney  should  have 
the  reprehensible  taste  to  steal  a  worthless  play  seemed  a  slur 
upon  the  lawyer's  judgment.  Another  new  play,  the  "  Northern 
Heiress,"  by  Mrs.  Davys,  a  clergyman's  widow,  but  now  the  lively 
Irish  mistress  of  a  Cambridge  coftee-house,  reminds  me  of  the  five- 
act  farces  of  Reynolds,  with  its  fops,  fools,  half-pay  officers,  fast 
gentlemen,  and  flippant  ladies.  There  are  ten  people  married  at 
the  end,  a  compliment  to  matrimony,  at  the  hands  of  the  widow ; 
but  there  is  a  slip  in  poetical  justice ;  for  a  lover  who  deserts  his 
mistress,  when  he  finds,  as  Lord  Peterborough  did  of  Miss  Moses, 
that  her  foitune  was  not  equal  to  his  expectations,  marries  her, 
after  discovering  that  he  was  mistaken. 

Herewith  we  come  to  tlie  Drury  Lane  season  of  1 7 1 6-1 7.  Booth, 
Wilks,  and  Cibber  had  a  famous  company,  in  which  Quin  quietly 
made  his  way  to  the  head,  and  IVIrs.  liorton's  beauty  acted  with 
good  cftect  on  Mrs.  Oldfi'dd.  I]i  the  way  of  novelty,  Mrs.  Cent- 
livre  produced  a  tragedy,  the  "  Cruel  Gift,"  in  which  nobody  dies. 


COMPETITION,   AND    WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  233 

and  lovers  are  happily  married.  The  most  notable  affair,  however, 
was  the  comedy,  "  Three  Hours  after  Marriage,"  in  which  Gay, 
Pope,  and  Arbuthnot,  tliree  grave  men,  who  pretended  to  instruct 
and  unprove  mankind,  insulted  modesty,  virtue,  and  common  de- 
cency, in  the  grossest  way,  by  speech  or  innuendo.  There  is  not 
so  much  filth  in  any  other  comedy  of  this  century,  and  the  trio  of 
authors  stand  stigmatized  for  their  attmnpt  to  bring  in  the  old 
corruption.  In  strange  contrast  we  have  Mrs.  Manley,  a  woman 
who  began  life  with  unmerited  misfortune,  and  carried  it  on  with 
unmitigated  profligacy,  producing  a  highly  moral,  semi-religious 
drama,  "  Lucius." 

But  while  moral  poets  were  polluting  the  stage,  and  immoral 
women  undertaking  to  purify  it,  a  reverend  Archdeacon  of 
Stowe,  the  historian,  Lawrence  Echard,  in  conjunction  with  Le- 
strange,  put  on  the  stage  of  Drury  Lane  a  translation  of  the 
"  Eunuchiis"  of  Terence.  It  did  not  survive  the  third  night ;  but 
the  audience  might  have  remarked  how  much  more  refinedly  the 
Carthaginian  of  old  could  treat  a  delicate  subject  than  the  Chris- 
tian poets  of  a  later  era — or,  to  speak  correctly,  than  the  later 
poets  of  a  Christian  era. 

In  this  season  I  find  the  first  trace  of  a  "fashionable  night,"  and 
a  later  hour  for  beginning  the  play  than  any  of  subsequent  times. 
I  quote  from  Genest : — "  18  June,  I7l7.  By  particular  desire  of 
several  Ladies  of  Quality.  '  Fatal  Marriage.'  Biron,  Booth ; 
Villeroy,  Mills ;  Isabella,  Mrs.  Porter ;  Victoria,  Mrs.  Younger. 
An  exact  computation  being  made  of  the  number  which  the  Pit 
and  Boxes  will  hold,  they  are  laid  together ;  and  no  person  can 
be  admitted  without  tickets.  By  desire,  the  play  is  not  to  begin 
till  nine  o'clock,  by  reason  of  the  heat  of  the  weather — nor  the 
house  to  be  opened  till  eight."  What  a  change  ^rom  the  time 
when  Dryden's  Lovely  exclaimed  : — 

'•As  punctual  as  three  o'clock  at  the  playhouse  1" 

The  corresponding  season  (1716-17)  at  Lincoln's  Iim  requires 
but  brief  notice.  Rich,  who  had  failed  in  attempting  Essex,  played, 
as  Mr.  Lun,  II;u'lequin,  in  the  "  Cheats,  or  the  Tavern  Bilkers,"  a 
ballet-pantomime — the  forerunner  of  the  line  of  pantomime  which, 
notwithstanding  our  presumed  advance  in  civilization,  still  has  its 


234  dokak's  annals  of  the  stage. 

admirers.  In  novelty,  Dick  Leveridge,  the  singer,  produced  the 
burlesque  of  "  Pyrainus  und  Thi.sbc" — those  parts  being  play- 
ed by  himself  and  Pack,  with  irresistible  comic  eflect,  es- 
pecially when  caricaturing  the  style  of  the  Italian  Opera,  where 
your  hero  died  in  very  good  time  and  tune,  English  Opera 
was  not  altogether  neglected  in  the  Fields,  but  little  was  accom- 
plished in  the  way  of  upholding  the  drama.  Bullock  produced  a 
comedy,  which  he  was  accused  of  stealing  from  a  manuscript  by 
Savage — "  Woman's  a  Riddle."  It  is  a  long  coarse  farce,  in  which 
the  most  decent  incident  is  the  hanging  of  Sir  Amorous  Vain  wit, 
from  a  balcony,  as  he  is  trying  to  escape  in  woman's  clothes, 
which  are  caught  by  a  hook,  and  beneath  which  a  footman  stands 
with  a  flambeau.  We  learn  too,  from  this  comedy,  that  young 
ladies  carried  snuft'-boxes  in  those  days. 

Taverner,  the  proctor,  also  produced  a  comedy  quite  as  extrava- 
gant, and  not  a  whit  less  immoral  than  Bullock's — the  "  Artful 
Husband."  It  had,  however,  great  temporary  success,  quite 
enough  to  turn  the  author's  head,  and  by  his  acts  to  show  that 
there  was  nothing  in  it. 

"  The  Artful  Husband,"  however,  brought  into  notice  a  young 
actor  who  had  but  a  small  part  to  play, — Stockwell.  His  name 
was  Spiller.  The  Duke  of  Argyle  thought,  and  spoke  well  of  him 
before  this.  On  the  night  in  question,  Spiller,  who  dressed  his 
characters  like  an  artist,  went  through  his  first  scenes  exquisitely, 
and  without  being  recognized  by  his  patron,  who  came  behind  the 
scenes,  and  had  recommended  him  warmly  to  the  notice  of  Rich. 
Genest  says  he  hopes  this  story  is  true.  I  am  sure  it  is  not  im- 
probable ;  and  for  this  reason :  I  once  saw  Lafont  acting  the 
Son  in  "  Pere  et  Fils."  Opposite  to  the  side  on  which  he  made 
his  exit  an  aged  actor,  who  represented  the  father,  passed  me.  I 
was  delighted  with  the  truth  and  beauty  of  his  acting,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  scene  asked  who  he  was.  To  my  astonishment,  I 
heard  that  Lafont,  whom  I  had  well  known  as  an  actor  for  more 
than  twenty  years,  was  playing  both  parts.  This  identifying 
power  was  Spiller's  distinguishing  merit.  Riccoboni  saw  the 
young  actor  play  an  old  man  with  a  perfectness  not  to  be  expect- 
ed but  from  players  of  the  longest  experience.  "  How  great  was 
my   surprise,"   says    Riccoboni,   "  when  I  learnt  that  he   was  a 


COMPETITION,   AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  235 

young  man,  about  the  age  of  twenty-six.  I  could  not  believe  it ; 
but  owned  that  it  might  be  possible,  had  he  only  used  a  broken 
and  a  trembling  voice,  and  had  only  an  extreme  weakness  possess- 
ed his  body,  because  I  conceived  that  a  young  actor  might,  by 
the  help  of  art,  imitate  that  debility  of  nature  to  such  a  pitch  of 
excellence  ;  but  the  wrinkles  of  his  face,  his  sunk  eyes,  and  his 
loose,  yellow  cheeks,  the  most  certain  marks  of  age,  were  incon- 
testable proofs  against  what  they  said  to  me.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  I  was  forced  to  submit  to  truth,  because  I  was  credibly  in- 
formed that  the  actor,  to  fit  himself  for  the  part  of  this  old  man, 
spent  an  hour  in  dressing  himself,  and  disguised  his  face  so  nicely, 
and  painted  so  artificially  a  part  of  his  eyebrows  and  eyelids,  that 
at  the  distance  of  six  paces  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  de- 
ceived." 

In  the  next  season,  at  Drury  (1717-18),  the  only  remarkable 
piece  produced  was  Gibber's  adaptation  of  "Tavtuffe,"  under  the 
name  of  the  "  Nonjuror."  In  the  lustre  of  the  "  Nonjuror"  paled 
and  died  out  the  first  play  by  Savage,  "  Love  in  a  Veil."  Not 
twenty  years  had  elapsed  since  this  luckless  and  heartless  young 
vagabond  was  born,  in  Fox  Court,  Gray's  Inn  Lane,  his  unknown 
mother,  but  not  that  light  lady,  the  Countess  of  Macclesfield,  wear- 
ing a  mask.  Savage  had  passed  from  a  shoemaker's  shop  to  the 
streets,  had  written  a  poem  on  the  Bangorian  Controversy,  had 
adapted  a  play  translated  from  the  Spanish,  by  the  wife  of  Mr. 
Baron  Price,  and  which  Bullock  readapted  and  produced  at  Drury 
Lane  before  Savage  could  get  his  own  accepted.  "Love  in  a 
Veil"  seems  to  have  been  founded  on  an  incident  in  the  Spanish 
comedy ;  but  however  this  may  be,  it  failed  to  obtain  the  public 
approval.  The  author,  however,  did  not  altogether  fail ;  generous 
Wilks  patronized  the  boy,  and  Steele,  befriending  a  lad  of  parts, 
designed  to  give  him  £1,000,  which  he  had  not  got,  with  the  hand 
(»f  a  natural  daughter,  whom  the  young  and  wayward  poet  did  not 
gL't.  The  "  Nonjuror"  alone  survives  as  a  memorial  of  the  Druiy 
season  of  1717-18. 

We  owe  the  piece  to  fear  and  hatred  of  the  Pope  and  the  Pre- 
tender. It  addressed  itself  to  so  wide  a  public,  that  Lintot  gave 
the  liberal  sura  of  a  hundred  guineas  for  the  copyright ;  and  it  was 
5o  acceptable  to  the  King,  that  he  gave  a  dedication  fee  of  twice 


236  doran's  annals  op^  the  stage. 

that  number  of  guineas  to  the  author,  who  addressed  him  as 
"dread  Sir,"  and  spoke  of  himself  as  "the  lowest  of  your  subjects 
from  the  theatre."  Gibber  adds,  "  Your  comedians,  Sir,  are  an 
unhappy  society,  whom  some  severe  heads  think  wholly  useless, 
and  others,  dangerous  to  the  young  and  innocent.  This  comedy 
is,  therefore,  an  attempt  to  remove  that  prejudice,  and  to  show 
what  honest  and  laudable  uses  may  be  made  of  the  theatre,  when 
its  performances  keep  close  to  the  true  purposes  of  its  institution." 

Oibber  goes  on  to  remark,  that  perhaps  the  idly  and  seditiously 
inclined  may  cease  to  disturb  their  brains  about  embarrassing  the 
government,  if  "  proper  amusements"  be  provided  for  them.  For 
such,  his  play  is  rather  a  chastisement  than  an  amusement,  and 
he  thinks  that  would  have  been  aU  the  better  taken  had  it  not 
been  administered  by  a  comedian  ?  The  Nonjurors,  whose 
allegiance  was  paid  to  the  Pretender,  were  perhaps  not  worthy  of 
a  more  exalted  scourger ;  but  he  fears  that  truth  and  loyalty 
demanded  a  nobler  champion.  lie  flatteringly  alludes  to  the 
small  number  of  malcontents.  Ilis  piece  had  either  crushed 
them,  or  their  forces  were  not  so  great  as  supposed,  "  there  being 
no  assembly  where  people  are  so  free,  and  apt  to  speak  their 
minds,  as  in  a  crowded  theatre,  of  which,"  says  the  courtly  fellow, 
"  Your  Majesty  may  have  lately  seen  an  instance  in  the  insuppres- 
sible  acclamations  that  were  given  on  your  appearing  to  honor  this 
play  with  your  royal  presence." 

On  the.  night  of  representation,  Rowe,  in  a  prologue — he  was 
now  Poet  Laureate  and  Land  Surveyor  of  the  Customs  in  the  Port 
of  London,  deprecated  the  piece  being  considered  unjustifiably 
discourteous. 

"  Tliink  not  our  colors  may  too  strongly  paint 
The  stiff  non-juring  separation  saint. 
Good  breeding  ne'er  commands  us  to  be  civil 
To  tlaose  who  give  the  nation  to  the  devil  1" 

The  play  was  admirably  acted  by  Booth,  Colonel  Woodvil; 
Mills,  Sir  John  ;  Wilks,  Sir  Heartley  ;  Cibber,  Dr.  Wolf  (the  Cant- 
well  of  the  modern  arrangement) ;  and  Walker  (soon  to  be  famous 
as  Captain  Macheath),  Charles.  Mrs.  Porter  played  Lady  Wood- 
vil, and  Mrs.  Oldfield  turned  the  heads  and  touched  the  hearts  of 


COMPETITION,    AND    WHAT    CAME    OF    IT.  237 

all  lively  and  susceptible  folks  by  her  exquisite  coquetry,  in  Maria, 
The  play  was  not  a  servile  imitation  of,  but  an  excellent  adap- 
tation to,  modern  circumstances  of,  the  "Tartuffe."  Thoroughly 
Englis-h,  it  abounds  with  the  humor  and  manner  of  Gibber,  and 
despite  some  otFcnces  against  taste,  it  was  at  this  time  the  purest 
comedy  on  the  stage.  There  was  farce  enough  for  the  gallery, 
maxim  and  repartee,  suggestions  and  didactic  phrases  for  the  rest 
of  the  house.  The  success  surpassed  even  expectation.  It  raised 
against  Gibber  a  phalanx  of  implacable  foes — foes  who  howled  at 
every  thing  of  which  he  was,  afterwards,  the  author ;  but  it  gained 
for  him  his  advancement  to  the  poet-laureateship,  and  an  estima- 
tion which  caused  some  people  to  place  him,  for  usefulness  to  the 
cause  of  trite  religion,  on  an  equality  with  the  author  of  "  The 
Whole  Duty  of  Man  !"  Gibber  foresaw  the  tempest,  and,  prob- 
ably, also  the  prosperous  gales  which  were  to  follow,  to  which 
there  is  some  allusion  in  the  Epilogue  spoken  by  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
which,  of  course,  had  a  fling  against  marriage. 

"Was  't  not  enough  that  critics  might  pursue  him? 
But  must  he  rouse  a  party  to  undo  liim? 
These  blows,  I  told  him,  on  his  plays  would  fall: 
But  he,  unmov'd,  cried 's  blood!  we'll  stand  it  all  I" 

In  the  theatre  itself  the  opposition  to  the  piece  was  confined, 
Gibber  says,  to  ''  afew  smiles  of  silent  contempt.  As  the  satire  was 
chiefly  employed  on  the  enemies  of  the  Government,  they  were 
not  so  hardy  as  to  own  themselves  such,  by  any  higher  disap- 
probation or  resentment."  They  made  up  for  this  constrained 
silence,  as  above  noted,  and  Misfs  Journal^  for  fifteen  years,  lost 
no  opportunity  of  mauling  the  detested  off"ender.  With  the 
editor  of  that  paper,  says  Gibber,  "  though  I  could  never  persuade 
my  wit  to  have  an  open  account  with  him  (for,  as  he  had  no  ef- 
fects of  his  own,  I  did  not  think  myself  obliged  to  answer  his  bills), 
notwithstanding,  I  will  be  so  charitable  to  his  real  manes,  and  to 
the  ashes  of  his  paper,  as  to  mention  one  particular  civility  he  paid 
to  my  memory  after  he  thought  he  had  ingeniously  killed  me. 
Soon  after  the  '  Nonjuror'  had  received  the  favor  of  the  town,  T 
read  in  one  of  his  journals  the  following  short  paragraph  : — 'Yes- 
terday died  Mr.  GoUey  Gibber,  late  comedian  of  the  Theatre  Royal, 


238  doran's  annals  of  tue  stage. 

notorious  for  writing  the  Nonjuror.''  The  compliment  in  the 
latter  part,  I  confess,"  adds  Gibber,  "  I  did  not  dislike,  because  it 
came  from  so  impartial  a  judge." 

The  stage  lost  this  year  an  excellent  actor,  Irish  Bowen,  who,  at 
the  age  of  tifty-two,  was  slain  in  duel  by  young  Quin.  Hitherto  the 
sword  had  dealt  lightly  with  actors.  In  1692,  indeed,  Sandford 
nearly  killed  Powell,  on  the  stage.  On  the  13th  of  October  tlicy 
were  acting  together,  in  "  Oedipus,  King  of  Thebes,"  when  the 
former,  to  whom  a  real  dagger  had  been  delivered  by  the  property 
man,  instead  of  a  weapon  the  blade  of  which  run  up,  when  the 
point  was  pressed,  into  the  handle,  gave  poor  Powell  a  stab  three 
inches  deep ;  the  wound  was,  at  first,  thought  to  be  mortal ;  but 
Powell  recovered.  Five  years  later,  in  July,  1697,  I  find  brief 
mention  in  the  papers  of  a  duel  between  an  actor  and  an  oificer. 
The  initials  only  of  the  principals  are  given  :  "  Mr.  H.,  an  actor, 
of  Lincohi's  Inn  Fields  Theatre,  fought  Mr.  D.,  an  officer,  at 
Barnes  Elms."  Whether  the  former  was  young  Hodgson  or 
young  Hari'is  is  not  now  to  be  determined,  nor  the  grounds  of  the 
quarrel.  The  issue  of  it  was  that  the  player  dangerously  wounded 
the  soldier ;  and  it  is  added,  that  both  parties  exhibited  brilliant 
courage. 

Co  wen  was  the  original  representative  of  Sir  Joshua  Wittol 
("Old  Bachelor"),  Jeremy  ("Love  for  Love"),  and  Foigard 
("  Beaux'  Stratagem"). 

Quin  passed  over  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  in  this  season  of  1 71 7- 
1 8,  where  he  played  Hotspur,  Tamerlane,  Morat  ("  Aurungzebe"), 
Mark  Anthony,  and  created  the  part  of  Scipio,  in  the  "  Scipio 
Africanus,"  written  by  young  Beckingham,  the  pride  of  Merchant 
Tailors'  School.  Beckingham  must  also  have  been  the  pride  of 
Fleet  Street,  and  especially  of  the  craft  of  linen-drapers,  of  which 
his  father  was  a  worthy  and  well-to-do  member.  The  piece  was 
played  on  the  18th  of  February,  1718.  The  author  was  then  but 
nineteen  years  of  age,  and  was  full  of  bright  promise.  A  tragedy 
by  one  so  young,  excited  the  public,  and  most  especially  the 
j  venile  public,  at  Merchant  Tailors',  where  Dr.  Smith  was  head- 
master. The  Doctor  and  sub-masters  held  the  stage  in  abhor- 
rence till  now,  when  a  brilliant  alumnus  was  likely  to  shed  lustre 
on  the  corporation  of  "  Merchant  Tailors  and  Linen  Armorers.** 


COMPETITION,    AND   WHAT   CAME   OF   IT.  239 

Now  they  proclaimed  high  jubilee,  gave  the  lads  a  half  holiday 
on  the  author's  night,  and  joyfully  saw  the  whole  school  swarming 
to  the  pit  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  to  uphold  the  tragedy  by  this  honored 
condiscipulas.  The  masters,  in  this,  acted  against  their  own 
former  precept  and  example ;  but  they  made  amends  by  a  re- 
ligious zeal,  and  by  expelling  all  the  Jewish  pupils  from  the 
school !  Israel  was  the  scapegoat,  and  the  Christian  sense  of  pro- 
piiety  was  gratified. 

But  Quin's  Scipio  established  a  taste  for  theatricals  at  Merchant 
Tailors',  where  classical  plays  were  acted,  for  some  years,  as  at 
Westminster.  Beckingham's  tragedy  exhibits  a  romantic  story, 
or  stories,  in  a  classical  costume.  There  is  severity  enough  to 
gratify  rigid  tastes,  with  a  little  of  over-w'armth  of  action  on  the 
part  of  one  of  three  lovers,  which  shows  that  the  young  poet  was 
not  unread  in  the  older  masters. 

But  there  were  worse  and  better  plays  than  "  Scipio"  brought 
out  on  the  same  stage  this  season.  Taverner  failed  in  a  pendant 
to  his  "  Artful  Husband,"  the  "  Artful  Wife."  Bullock  did  little 
for  the  credit  of  the  stage  by  his  farce  of  the  "Perjurer,"  and  Sir 
Thomas  Moore  justly  criticized  his  own  tragedy  of  "  Mangore, 
King  of  the  Timbusians,"  when  he  called  it  a  "  trifle."  It  is  a 
very  noisy  trifle,  concerned  with  love,  battle,  murder,  and  worse, 
between  the  Spaniards  and  South  American  Indians.  Rich  thought 
its  bustle  might  carry  its  absurdities  successfully  through,  and  Sir 
Thomas  stimulated  the  actors,  when  at  rehearsal,  by  inviting  them 
to  supper,  at  which  Leigh,  the  two  Bullocks,  Williams,  Ogden, 
Knapp,  and  Giffard,  Mistresses  Knight,  Bullock,  and  Kent,  made 
a  joyous  party,  as  hilarious  as  the  audience  was,  whose  laughter 
alone  prevented  them  from  hissing  down  the  nonsense  of  an  ob- 
Bcure  man  who  was  knighted  for  some  forgotten  service — certainly 
aot  for  any  rendered  to  the  Muses. 

The  piece  of  this  season  which  had  stuff"  in  it  to  cause  it  to  live 
to  our  own  times,  was  Mrs.  Centlivre's  "  Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife." 
Sprightly  Mrs.  Centlivre  was  as  fervent  a  Whig  as  Gibber,  and  had 
written  verses  enough  in  praise  of  Brunswick  to  entitle  her  to  be 
poetess-Laureate,  had  the  Pi-incess  Caroline  had  a  voice  in  the 
matter,  when  Rowe  died  this  very  year,  and  Newcastle  recom- 
mended tipsy  Eusden   for  the  office  of  "  birthday  fibber."     The 


210  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"Bold  Stroke,"  laughed  at  and  denounced  by  Wilks,  and  taken 
reluctantly  in  hand  by  the  actors,  is  a  fair  specimen  of  that  lighter 
comedy  which  borders  upon  farce,  but  in  which  the  fun  is  genu- 
ine, and  the  incidents  not  so  improbable  but  that  they  may  be 
accepted,  or,  by  the  rapidity  of  their  succession,  laughed  at  and 
forgotten. 

This  season,  withal,  was  not  successful.  It  broke  the  heart  of 
Keen,  actor  and  sharer.  In  the  former  capacity,  though  Savage 
thought  his  life  worth  narrating,  he  won  few  laurels, — but  his 
wreath  was  not  entirely  leafless.  He  was  loved,  too,  by  his  breth- 
ren of  both  houses,  whose  subscriptions  defrayed  the  expenses  of 
a  funeral,  at  which  upwards  of  two  hundred  persons  walked,  in 
deep  mourning. 

At  this  time,  Drury,  with  its  old,  strong  comjjany,  was  patron- 
ized by  court  and  town.  Plays,  acted  at  Hampton  Court,  before 
the  King,  were  repeated  in  the  public  theatre.  Of  the  former  I 
shall  speak  in  a  future  page.  Two  new  comedies  proved,  indeed, 
inferior  to  Mrs.  Centlivre's  "  Bold  Stroke,"  at  the  other  house. 
Charles  Johnson's  "  Masquerade,"  borrowed  a  little  from  Shirley, 
and  more  from  Moliere,  furnished,  in  Ombre  and  Lady  Francis 
Ombre,  some  ideas,  probably,  to  Gibber,  when  he  placed  a  similar 
pair  on  the  stage,  in  Lord  and  Lady  Townley.  A  worse  piece  was 
more  successful, — the  rambling  comedy,  "  Chit  Chat,"  by  a  Mr. 
Thomas  Killigrew,  a  gentleman  who,  like  his  namesake,  had  a 
place  at  court,  but  not  his  namesake's  wit.  The  courtiers,  with 
the  Duke  of  Argyle  at  their  head,  carried  the  piece  through  eleven 
representations,  and  enriched  the  treasury  by  £1,000  ! 

The  great  efibrt  of  the  season  was  made  in  bringing  out  "  Busi- 
ris,"  a  tragedy,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Young,  author  of  Night  Thouphts. 
It  was  played  on  March  7,  1719,  by  Booth,  EIrington,  Wilks, 
Mills,  Walker  and  Thurmond,  Mrs.  Oldtield  and  Mrs.  Thurmond. 

"  Busiris"  was  Young's  earliest  tragedy.  It  is  written  in  a  stilt- 
ed and  inflated  style,  and  bears  all  the  marks  of  a  juvenile  produc- 
tion. The  plot  of  the  piece  is  void  of  all  ingenuity ;  but  there  is 
little  that  is  borrowed  in  it,  save  the  haughty  message  sent  by 
Busiris  to  the  Persian  Ambassador,  which  is  the  same  as  that  re- 
turned by  the  Ethiopian  prince  to  Cambyses,  in  the  third  book  of 
Herodotus.     Of  the  phrasing,  and  indeed  of  the  incidents  of  thia 


COMrETITIOX,    AND    WHAT   CAME    OF   IT.  241 

tragedy,  Fielding  made  excellent  fun,  in  his  mock  tragedy  of 
"  Tom  Thumb."  The  sovereigns  and  courtiers  of  Egypt  gave  little 
trouble  to  be  converted  into  Arthur  and  Dollabella,  Noodle,  Doo- 
dle, the  great  Uttle  prince,  and  lluncamunca.  The  travesty  is 
rich  and  facile ;  not  least  so  in  that  passage  mimicking  the  vari- 
ous addresses  to  the  sun,  who  is  bid  to  rise  no  more,  but  hide  his 
face  and  put  the  world  in  mourning.  On  these,  Fielding  remarks, 
mat  "  the  author  of  '  Busiris'  is  extremely  anxious  to  prevent  the 
sun's  blushing  at  any  indecent  object ;  and,  therefore,  on  all  such 
occasions,  he  addresses  himself  to  the  sun,  and  desires  him  to  keep 
out  of  the  way."  It  was  dedicated  to  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  the 
patron  of  Eusden,  the  laureate "  because  the  late  instances  he  had 
received  of  his  grace's  undeserved  and  uncommon  favor,  in  an 
atiair  of  some  consequence,  foreign  to  the  theatre,  had  taken  from 
him  the  privilege  of  choosing  a  patron."  If  this  favor  consisted 
in  rewarding  Young  for  writing  for  the  court,  the  favor  may  have 
been  "  undeserved,"  but  it  was  by  no  means  "  uncommon." 

The  concluding  incident  of  this  play — the  double  suicide  of 
Memnon  (Wilks)  and  Mandane  (Mrs.  Oldfield),  found  such  favor 
in  the  author's  own  estimation,  that  he  repeated  it  in  his  next  two 
tragedies,  in  each  of  which  a  couple  of  lovers  make  away  with 
themselves.  This  tripled  circumstance  reminds  a  critic  of  the  re- 
mark of  Dryden  : — "  The  dagger  and  the  bowl  are  always  at  hand 
to  butcher  a  hero,  when  a  poet  wants  the  brains  to  save  him." 

Dr.  Young  was  at  this  time  thirty-eight  years  of  age,  but  was 
not  yet  "  famous."  Born  when  Charles  II.  was  king  and  Dryden 
laureat,  the  Hampshire  godson  of  the  Princess,  Anne,  was  as  yet 
only  known  as  having  been  the  friend  of  the  Duke  of  Wharton, 
and  of  Tickell;  as  having  first  come  before  the  public  in  1713, 
witli  a  poem  to  Granville,  in  which  there  is  good  dramatic  criti- 
cism ;  and  of  having  since  written  poems  of  promise  rather  than 
of  merit,  the  latest  of  which  was  a  pai-aphrase  on  part  of  the  book 
of  Job,  which,  curiously  enough,  abounds  with  phrases  which  show 
the  author's  growing  intercourse  with  the  play  house  and  theatrical 
people.  "  Busiris"  was  written  in  the  year  that  "  Cato"  was  played, 
but  its  performance  was  delayed  till  this  yeai-,  and  its  dramatic 
death  occurred  long  before  "  Cato"  departed  from  the  stage — to 
be  read,  at  least,  as  long  as  an  admirer  of  Addison  survives. 
Vol.  I.— 11 


242  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER   XVIL 

fHE  PROGRESS  OF  JAMES  QUIN,  AND  DECLINE  OF  BARTON  BOOTH. 

QuiN  made  great  advances  in  the  public  favor  in  the  season  of 
1718-19,  at  Lincohi's  Inn,  where,  however,  as  yet,  he  only  shared 
the  leading  business  in  tragedy  and  comedy  with  Ryan,  and  the 
less  distinguished  Evans.  Southwark  Fair,  a  fashionable  resort, 
contributed  to  the  company  a  new  actor,  Bohemia  or  Boheme, 
with  great  comic  power  ;  and  Susan  Mountfort  replaced  for  a  few 
weeks  Mrs.  Rogers,  who  had  held  for  a  time  the  tragic  parts  once 
acted  by  Mrs.  Barry  and  Bracegirdle,  and  who  died  about  this 
time.  Of  Susan  Mountfort's  touching  end  I  will  speak  in  a  future 
page.  Mrs.  Rogers  had  been  on  the  stage  since  1692,  and  num- 
bered among  her  original  parts  : — Imoinda,  Oriana,  Melinda,  and 
Isabinda,  in  "  Oronooko,"  "  Inconstant,"  "  Recruiting  Officer,"  and 
"  Busy  Body." 

During  this  season  a  French  company  acted  for  some  time  in 
the  Fields,  where  the  "  Tartuffe"  was  also  played  against  the 
"  Nonjuror."  The  only  novelty  worthy  of  notice  was  the  "  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh"  of  poor  Dr.  Sewell,  in  which  Quin  played  the 
hero  with  indifferent  success.  The  author  was  more  remarkable 
than  his  piece.  He  was  of  good  family,  and  a  pupil  of  Boer- 
haave ;  but,  unsuccessful  as  a  practitioner  in  London,  he,  curiously 
enough,  gained  fortune  and  reputation  in  the  smaller  sphere  of 
Hampstead,  until,  as  a  singular  biographical  notice  informs  us, 
"three  other  physicians  settled  at  the  same  place,  after  which  his 
gains  became  very  inconsiderable."  He  became  a  poor  poet  in- 
stead of  a  rich  physician ;  "kept  no  house,  but  was  a  boarder; 
was  much  esteemed,  and  so  frequently  invited  to  the  tables  of 
gentlemen  in  the  neighborhood,  that  he  had  seldom  occasion  to 
dine  at  home."  Seven  years  after  Quin  failed  to  lift  him  into 
dramatic  notoriety,  this  Tory  opponent  of  the  Whig  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  and  one  of  the  minor  contributors  (it  is  said)  to  tb© 


PROGRESS  OF  QUIN,  AND  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   243 

Spectator  and  Tatler,  tliougli  he  is  not  included  in  Bissett's  lives 
of  the  writers  in  the  first-named  periodical,  died,  "  and  was  sup- 
posed," says  the  anonymous  biographer  already  quoted,  "  at  that 
time  to  be  in  very  indigent  circumstances,  as  he  was  interred  in 
the  meanest  manner,  his  coffin  being  little  better  than  those  allot- 
ted by  the  parish  to  their  poor  who  are  buried  from  the  work- 
houses, neither  did  a  single  friend  or  relation  attend  him  to  the 
grave.  No  memorial  was  placed  over  his  remains ;  but  they  lie 
just  under  a  holly-tree,  which  formed  part  of  a  hedge-row,  that 
was  once  the  boundary  of  the  churchyard."  Such  was  the  end  of 
the  poet,  through  whom  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  hoped,  in  1719,  to 
recover  its  ancient  prosperity. 

Eventful  incidents  marked  the  Drury  Lane  season  of  1719-20. 
It  commenced  in  the  middle  of  September,  between  which  time, 
and  the  last  week  of  the  following  January,  things  went  on  pros- 
perously as  between  players  and  public,  but  not  so  as  between 
patentees  and  the  government.  Within  the  period  mentioned  Miss 
Santlow  had  made  Booth  happy — an  union  which  helped  to  make 
Susan  Mountfort  mad,  and  Dennis's  "  Invader  of  His  Country," 
and  Southerne's  "Spartan  Dame,"  were  produced.  The  former 
was  the  second  of  three  adaptations  from  Shakspeare's  "Corio- 
lanus."  Forty  years  before,  in  1682,  Nahum  Tate  fancied  there 
was  something  in  the  times  like  that  depicted  in  the  days  of  Corio- 
lanus.  To  make  the  parallel  more  striking,  he  pulled  Shakspeare's 
play  to  pieces,  and  out  of  the  fragments  built  up  his  own  "  In- 
gratitude of  a  Commonwealth."  Nahum  altered  all  for  the  worse; 
and  he  wrote  a  new  fifth  act,  which  was  still  worse  than  the  mere 
verbal  or  semi-alterations.  The  impudence  of  the  destroyer  was 
illustrated  by  his  cool  assurance  in  the  prologue,  that — 

"  Ho  only  ventures  to  make  gold  from  ore, 
And  turn  to  money  what  lay  dead  before." 

Tate  was  now  followed  by  Dennis,  who  altered  "  Coriolanus" 
for  pc  litical  reasons,  brought  it  out  at  Drury  Lane,  in  the  cause 
of  his  country  and  sovereign,  and  perhaps  thought  to  frighten  the 
Pretender  by  it.  The  failure  was  complete ;  although  Booth 
played  the  principal  male  character,  and  Mrs.  Porter  Volumnia. 

Southerne's  "  Spartan  Dame"  had  been  interdicted  in  the  reign 


244  doran's  ankals  of  the  stage. 

of  William  and  Mary,  as  it  was  supposed  that  the  part  of  Celonis 
(Mrs.  Oldlield),  wavering  between  her  duty  to  her  father,  Leoa- 
idas,  and  that  owing  to  her  husband,  Cleombrotus  (Booth),  would 
have  painfully  reminded  some,  and  joyfully  reminded  other,  of  the 
spectators,  of  the  position  of  Mary,  between  her  royal  sire  and  her 
princely  consort.  But  it  would  have  been  as  reasonable  to  pro- 
hibit "Othello"  or  "King  Lear,"  because  of  the  presence  in  them 
(»f  individuals  so  related.  Southerne's  play  has  no  local  color 
about  it,  but  abounds  in  anachronisms  and  incongruities,  and  it 
survived  but  during  a  brief  popularity.  The  author  was  now  sixty 
years  of  age,  Dennis  seven  years  his  senior.  The  older  and  un- 
luckier,  and  less  courteous  poet,  gained  nothing  by  his  play  to 
compensate  for  the  annuity  he  had  purchased,  but  the  term  of 
which  he  had  outlived.  Southerne  gained  £500  by  his  "author's 
nights"  alone ;  for  patronage  and  presence  on  which  occasions, 
the  plausible  poet  personally  solicited  his  friends.  For  the  copy- 
right he  received  an  additional  £120. 

About  six  weeks  after  Southerne's  play  was  produced — that  is, 
after  the  performance  of  the  "Maid's  Tragedy,"  January  23d, 
1720,  an  order  from  the  Duke  of  Newcastle,  Lord  Chamberlain, 
suddenly  closed  the  theatre  !  The  alleged  cause  was  "  information 
of  misbehavior  on  the  part  of  the  players."  The  real  cause  lay  in 
Sir  Richard  Steele,  the  principal  man  who  held  the  patent ! 

Since  we  last  parted  with  the  knight,  he  had  been  ungenerously 
trying,  in  pamphlets,  to  hunt  to  the  scaffold  the  last  Tory  ministers 
of  Queen  Anne  ;  he  had  lost  his  second  wife  ;  he  had  been  projecting 
an  union  of  Church  and  Kirk ;  he  had  invented  a  means  of  keep- 
ing fish  alive  while  being  transported  across  sea;  he  had  been 
living  extravagantly ;  but  he  had  also  offended  his  patron,  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  therewith,  the  King,  whose  servant  the 
Duke  was,  and  the  Government,  of  which  the  Duke  was  a  mem- 
ber. Steele,  in  fact,  had  vehemently  and  successfully  opposed, 
by  speech  and  pamphlet,  Lord  Sunderland's  Peerage  Bill,  which 
proposed  to  establish  twenty-five  hereditary  peers  of  Scotland  to  sit 
in  the  English  House  of  Lords,  in  place  of  the  usual  election  of 
sixteen ;  and  to  create  six  new  English  peerages,  with  the  under- 
standing that  the  Crown  would  never,  in  future,  make  a  new  peei 
except  on  the  extinction  of  an  old  family.     Steele  denounced,  in 


PROGRESS  OF  QUIN,  AND  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   245 

the  Plebeian,  the  aristocratical  tendency  of  the  bill,  and  to  such 
purpose,  that  the  theatre  he  governed  was  closed,  and  his  name 
struck  out  of  the  license ! 

Steele  appealed  to  the  public,  in  a  pamphlet,  the  Theatre  ;  and 
showed,  by  counsel's  opinion,  how  he  had  been  wronged;  he 
estimated  his  loss  at  nearly  £10,000,  and  finally  sank  into  distress, 
with  mingled  bitterness  and  wit.  His  old  ducal  patron  had  loudly 
proclaimed  he  would  ruin  him.  "  This,"  said  Steele,  "  from  a  man 
in  his  circumstances,  to  one  in  mine,  is  as  great  as  the  humor  of 
Malagina,  in  the  comedy,  who  valued  himself  for  his  activity  in 
'  tripping  up  cripples.'  " 

Dennis  entered  the  lists  against  Sir  Richard ;  but  the  worst  the 
censor  could  say  against  the  knight  was,  that  he  had  a  dark  com- 
plexion, and  wore  a  black  peruke.  Dennis  also  attacked  actors 
generally,  as  rogues  and  vagabonds  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  and 
liable  to  be  whipped  at  the  King's  porter's  lodge.  Such  was  the 
testimony  of  this  coarse  Cockney,  the  son  of  a  saddler,  and  a 
fellow  who,  for  his  ill-doings,  had  been  expelled  from  Cambridge 
University. 

Booth,  Gibber,  and  Wilks  were  permitted  to  reopen  Drury 
under  a  license,  after  an  interval  of  a  few  days,  and  the  season 
thus  recommencing  on  the  28th  of  January,  with  the  "  Careless 
Husband,"  Cibbfer  playing  Lord  Foppington,  ran  on  to  August 
23d,  when  the  house  closed  with  "Bartholomew  Fair!"  The 
only  novelty  was  Hughes's  "  Siege  of  Damascus,"  with  false  quan- 
tities in  its  classical  names,  and  much  heaviness  of  treatment  of  an 
apt  stoiy.  It  was  Hughes's  first  play,  and  he  died  unconscious 
of  its  success.  He  was  then  but  forty-three  years  of  age.  The  old 
school-fellow  of  Isaac  Watts  had  begun  his  career  by  compliment- 
ing King  William  and  eulogizing  Queen  Anne.  He  had  pub- 
lished clever  translations,  composed  very  gentlemanlike  music, 
contributed  to  the  Spectator,  and  obtained  a  place  among  the  wits. 
He  wrote,  in  1712,  the  words  of  the  opera  of  "  Calypso  and  Tel- 
emachus,"  to  prove  how  gracefully  the  English  language  might  be 
wedded  to  music.  Two  Lord  Chancellors  were  among  his  patrons, 
Cowper  and  Macclesfield,  and  that  he  held  the  Secretaryship  to 
the  Commissioners  of  the  Peace  was  a  pleasant  consequence 
*  bereof.    His  "  Siege  of  Damascus"  has  for  moral,  that  it  is  wrong 


246  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

to  extend  religious  faith  by  means  of  the  sword.  The  angry  lover 
who  left  the  city  he  had  saved,  to  assault  it  with  the  Arabians, 
from  whom  he  had  saved  it,  and  to  meet  the  lady  of  his  love  full 
of  abhorrence  for  the  traitor,  might  have  produced  some  emotion ; 
but  loving,  loved,  living,  and  dying,  they  all  talk,  seldom  act,  and 
never  touch.  Nevertheless,  Booth,  Wilks,  Mills,  and  Mrs.  Porter 
had  attentive  listeners,  if  not  ecstatic  auditors,  during  a  run  of 
ten  nights.  The  long  tirades  and  the  ponderous  similes  gratified 
the  same  audiences  who  took  delight  in  Norris's  Barnaby  Brittle, 
Shepherd's  Sir  Tunbelly  Clumsey,  and  Mrs.  Booth's  Helena,  in 
the  "  Rover."  Nevertheless,  Hughes  acquired  no  fame.  When 
Swift  received  a  copy  of  his  works,  he  wrote  to  Pope  : — "  I  never 
heard  of  the  man  in  my  life,  yet  I  find  your  name  as  a  subscriber. 
He  is  too  grave  a  poet  for  me ;  and,  I  think,  among  the  medio- 
crists  in  prose  as  well  as  in  verse."  Pope  sanctioned  the  judg- 
ment; adding,  that  what  Hughes  wanted  in  genius,  he  made  up 
as  an  honest  man.  Hitherto,  the  great  tragedy  of  this  century 
was  "  Cato." 

At  Lincoln's  Inn,  Quin  played  the  King  to  Ryan's  Hamlet,  and 
created  Henri  Quatre  in  young  Beckingham's  second,  last,  and 
unsuccessful  essay,  "  Henry  IV.  of  France."  What  was  the  course 
of  the  Merchant  Tailors'  pupil,  and  son  of  the  Fleet  Street  linen- 
draper,  after  this,  I  am  unable  to  say,  further  than  that  he  died  in 
obscurity  some  ten  years  later.  A  comedy,  by  "  Handsome  Leigh," 
a  moderately  fair  actor,  called  "  Kensington  Gardens,  or  the  Pretend- 
ers," showed  some  power  of  drawing  character,  especially  an 
effeminate  footnian,  Bardash,  played  by  Bullock,  but  it  did  nothing 
for  a  theatre  which  was  now  partly  relying  on  subscriptions  in 
aid.  At  the  head  of  the  subscribers  was  the  last  Baron  Brooke, 
whose  more  famous  son,  the  first  Earl  of  Warwick,  of  the  Fulk 
Greville  line,  used  to  subscribe  his  political  vote  so  singularly — 
first  for  ministers,  then  for  the  opposition,  and  thirdly,  not  at  all, 
in  undeviating  regularity. 

This  piece  failing,  came  Theobald's  adaptation  of  Shakspeare'a 
"  Richard  II.,"  very  much  for  the  worse,  but  so  far  to  the  profit 
of  the  adapter,  that  the  Earl  of  Orrery  conferred  on  him  an  un- 
usually liberal  gift  for  the  dedication,  namely,  a  hundred  pound 
note,  enclosed  in  a  box  of  Egyptian  pebble,  which  was  worth  a 


PROGRESS   OF   QUIN,    AND   DECLINE   OF   BOOTH.      247 

score  of  pounds  more.  The  original  author  was  less  munificently 
remunerated,  except  in  abiding  glory. 

Another  attempt  served  the  house  as  poorly,  namely,  the  reap- 
pearance of  a  Mrs.  Vandervelt,  not  because  she  was  a  clever,  but 
that  she  was  a  very  aged,  actress,  85  years  old,  who  had  not 
played  since  King  Charles's  time,  but  who  had  spirits  enough  to 
act  the  Widow  Rich  in  the  "  Half-Pay  Officer,"  a  vamped-up 
farce,  by  MoUoy,  the  political  writer,  and  strength  enough  to 
dance  a  sprightly  jig  after  it.  As  the  hostess  of  a  tavern  in  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road,  Peg  Fryer,  as  the  old  dame  was  called  off 
the  stage,  kept  a  merry  and  prosperous  house. 

Another  adaptation  was  Griffin's  comedy,  "  Whig  and  Tory," 
which  had  nothing  political  in  it  but  the  name ;  and  by  which 
that  excellent  low  comedian,  who  ought  to  have  been  in  the 
Church,  and  who  would  not  be  a  glazier,  did  not  add  to  his 
fame. 

The  "Imperial  Captives"  was  a  more  ambitious  venture,  by  a 
new  author,  Mottley.  It  was  a  tragedy,  in  which  Quin  played 
Genseric,  King  of  the  Vandals,  and  in  which  there  is  much  love 
and  a  little  murder,  in  the  old  thundering  style,  and  all  at  cross- 
purposes.  Distress  made  a  poet  of  Mottley.  His  father  was  a 
Jacobite  colonel,  who  followed  James  to  France ;  his  mother,  a 
thorough-bred  Whig,  who  stayed  under  William  in  England.  Oc- 
casionally, they  settled  their  political  diff'erences,  and  met.  Mot- 
tley was  one  of  those  men  who  depend  on  patrons.  He  had  lost 
a  post  in  the  Excise  Office,  and  had  not  gained  either  of  two 
which  had  been  promised  him,  one  in  the  Wine  License  Office, 
by  Lord  Halifax,  and  one  in  the  Exchequer  to  which  he  had  been 
appointed,  but  from  which  he  was  immediately  ousted  by  Sir 
Robert  Walpole.  An  estate,  in  which  he  had  a  reversionary 
interest,  was  sold  by  his  widowed  and  extravagant  mother  to  pay 
her  debts ;  and  thus  stripped  of  post  and  prospects,  Mottley  made 
an  essay  as  dramatic  author,  a  career  in  which  he  was  not  des- 
tined to  be  distinguished,  although  Queen  Caroline  patronized 
him  during  a  part  of  it — but  so  she  did  Stephen  Duck !  "  Cato" 
was  not  superseded ;  but  Young  was  putting  the  finishing  stroke 
to  his  "Revenge." 

That  tragedy,  which  has  been  acted  more  frequently  and  more 


2-i8  DORAXS   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

recently  than  "  Cato,"  was  first  played  in  the  Drnry  Lane  season 
of  1720-21.  On  the  18th  of  April,  of  the  latter  year,  Zanga  was 
played  bv  Mills,  while  Booth  took  Alonzo,  and  Wilks,  Carlos. 
The  secondary  parts  were  thus  played  by  the  better  actors.  Mrs. 
Porter  played  Leonora;  Mrs.  llorton,  Isabella.  This  was  a  fine 
cast,  and  the  piece  was  fairly  successful.  A  story  in  the  Guar- 
dian, and  two  plays,  by  Marlowe  and  Aphra  Behn,  are  said  to 
have  furnished  Young  with  his  materials,  in  handling  which,  one 
of  his  biographers  has  described  him  as  "  superior  even  to  Shak- 
speare  !"  The  action  does  not  flag,  the  situations  are  dramatic,  the  • 
interest  is  well  sustained,  and  the  language  is  expressive  and 
abounding  in  poetical  beauty.  The  story  of  love,  jealousy,  and 
murder  is,  however,  a  little  marred  by  the  puling  lines  of  the 
black  lago — Zanga,  at  the  close.  Young  obtained  but  £50  for 
the  copyright  of  this  piece. 

Young's  "  Revenge,"  if  built  upon  other  plays,  has  served  the 
turn  of  later  authors.  In  Lord  John  Russell's  "  Don  Carlos,"  the 
reason  given  for  the  grovelling  Cordoba's  hatred  of  the  Spanish 
prince,  reminds  the  reader  of  that  of  Zanga  for  Alonzo ;  not  less 
in  the  fact  itself,  the  blow  believed  to  be  forgotten,  but  in  the  ex- 
pression. Any  one,  moreover,  who  remembers  the  avowal  which 
Artabanus  makes  of  his  guilt  in  the  "  Artaxerxes"  of  Metastasio, 
will  be  inclined  to  think  that  the  Italian  had  in  his  mind  the  simi- 
lar speech  of  the  Moor  to  his  master. 

Cibber's  comedy,  the  "  Refusal,"  skilfully  built  up  from  the 
"  Femmes  Savantes"  of  Moliere  and  the  South  Sea  mania,  ran, 
like  the  more  famous  tragedy,  but  six  nights,  a  riot  attending 
each  representation,  and  finally  ending  in  driving  a  good  play  by 
the  author  of  the  "  Nonjuror"  from  the  stage.  The  other  inci- 
dents of  this  season  are  confined  to  the  appearance  of  Cibber's 
son,  Theophilus,  who  made  his  first  essay  in  the  Duke  of  Clarence 
in  the  second  part  of  "  Henry  IV.,"  as  aiTangcd  by  Betterton.  It 
was  a  modest  attempt  on  the  part  of  him  whose  Pistol  was  to 
serve,  down  to  our  day,  as  a  tradition  to  be  followed.  As  this 
vagabond  Theophilus  appeared,  there,  on  the  other  hand,  depai-t- 
ed  the  very  pearl  of  chamber-maids,  Mrs.  Saunders,  who  retired 
to  become  the  friend  and  servant  of  Mrs.  Oldfield.  This  last 
lady  played  but  rarely  this  year;   but  Mrs.  Horton  profited  by 


PROGRESS  OF  QUIN",  AND  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   249 

the  opportunity,  and  Mrs.  Porter,  as  a  tragic  actress,  drew  the 
town. 

Lincoln's  Inn  was,  at  least,  active  in  its  corresponding  season. 
The  progress  of  Quin  is  curiously  marked.  He  played  Glo'ster 
to  the  Lear  of  Boheme ;  Hector,  in  "  Troilus  and  Cressida,"  Ryan 
playing  Troilus  ;  the  Duke,  in  "  Measure  for  Measure ;"  Coriola- 
nus ;  Aumerle,  in  "  Richard  H. ;"  Aaron,  in  "  Titus  Andronicus  ;" 
Lconato  to  Ryan's  Benedick,  &c.,  &c.  Moreover,  while  in  the 
"  Merry  Wives,"  he  played  Falstaff  with  great  effect  to  the  Host 
of  Bullock,  in  the  first  part  of  "  Henry  IV."  Bullock  played  the 
Knight,  and  Quin  the  King.  The  season,  remarkable  for  Shak- 
spearian  revivals,  creditable  to  Rich,  was  also  distinguished  for  the 
failure  of  the  original  pieces  produced.  The  "  Chimaera"  was  a 
satire  by  Odell,  a  Buckinghamshire  squire,  pensioned  by  Govern- 
ment. It  was  aimed  at  the  speculators  in  Change  Alley,  but  it 
smote  them  tenderly.  The  "  Fair  Captive"  was  an  adaptation  by 
Mrs.  Haywood,  a  lady  who  began  by  writing  as  loosely  as  Aphra 
Behn,  concluded  by  writing  as  decorously  as  Mrs.  Chapone;  and 
left  charge  to  her  executors,  in  1756,  to  give  no  aid  to  any  biog- 
raphy of  her  that  might  be  attempted,  oh  the  ground  that  the 
least  said  was  the  soonest  mended. 

This  comedy  was  only  succeeded  in  dulness  by  the  tragedy 
which  succeeded  it,  "  Antiochus,"  by  Mottley,  who  could  not  gain 
fortune  either  as  poet  or  placeman.  In  the  play,  Antiochus  is  in 
love  with  his  father's  wife,  Stratonice,  who,  on  being  surrendered 
to  his  son,  by  her  husband,  Seleucus,  is  a  little  overjoyed,  for  she 
loves  the  younger  prince ;  but  she  is  also  much  shocked,  and  es- 
capes from  her  embarrassment  by  suicide. 

The  next  novelty  was  a  tragedy  in  one  act  and  with  four  char- 
acters, "  Fatal  Extravagance,"  attributed  to  Miller,  the  son  of  a 
Scottish  stone-cutter.  Miller  was  a  sort  of  exaggerated  Richard 
Savage ;  inferior  to  him  as  a  poet,  and  in  every  respect  a  more  in- 
excusable vagabond.  He  had  no  redeeming  traits  of  character, 
and  he  destroyed  health  and  fortune  (both  restored  more  than 
once)  as  insanely  as  he  did  fame  and  the  patience  of  his  friends. 
In  "  Fatal  Extravagance,"  Belmour,  played  by  Quin,  kills  a  credi- 
tor who  holds  his  bond,  of  which  he  also  robs  the  dead  man ; 
mixes  a  "cordial,"  administers  it  to  his  wife  and  three  children  (oflf 
11* 


250  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  stage),  drinks  and  dies.  The  butchery  is  soon  got  through 
in  one  act.  Miller  subsequently  declared  that  the  piece  was  a  gift 
to  him  from  Aaron  Hill.  That  busy  and  benevolent  person  ha'! 
no  money  to  give  to  a  beggar ;  so,  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a 
tragedy  for  him.     It  was  a  piece  of  clever  extravagance. 

It  was  far  more  amusing  than  Ambrose  Philips's  tragedy,  the 
"  Briton,"  which  was  the  sole  novelty  of  the  Drury  Lane  season 
1721-22.  The  tragedy  lacked  neither  skill,  poetical  spirit,  nor 
incident ;  indeed,  of  love  incidents  there  is  something  too  much. 
But  the  amours  of  Yvor  (Wilks)  and  Gwendolin  (Mrs.  Booth), 
the  infidelities  of  Queen  Cartismund  (Mrs.  Porter)  to  Vanoc 
(Booth),  and  the  intervention  of  the  Romans  in  these  British  do- 
mestic matters,  interested  but  for  a  few  nights,  if  tlien,  an  audience 
ill-read  in  their  own  primitive  history. 

Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  was  scarcely  more  prolific  in  novelty  ;  this, 
with  the  exception  of  a  poor  drama,  the  "  Hibernian  Friend,"  being 
confined  to  Sturmy's  tragedy,  "  Love  and  Duty ;"  Lynceus,  one 
of  the  half-hundred  sons  of  ^gyptus,  by  Quin.  The  love,  is  that 
of  Lynceus  and  his  cousin,  Hypermnestra ;  the  duty,  that  of  kill- 
ing her  husband,  on  the  bridal  night,  by  command  of  her  father. 
The  "  Distressed  Bride,"  which  is  the  second  name  of  this  piece, 
wisely  disobeys  her  sire,  who  is  ultimately  slain ;  after  which,  the 
young  people,  sole  survivors  of  fifty  couple  married  yesterday 
(the  bridegrooms,  all  brothers;  and  sisters,  all  the  brides),  are 
made  happy  by  the  hope  of  long  life  unembittered  by  feuds  with 
their  kinsfolk. 

The  last  two  tragedies  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  backsliding, 
after  "  Cato,"  "  Jane  Shore,"  and  the  "  Revenge  ;"  and  in  tragedy 
there  was  little  improvement  for  several  years.  Meanwhile,  Lin- 
coln's Inn  Fields  acquired  Walker,  from  Drury  Lane,  and  Tony 
Aston,  an  itinerant  actor,  the  first,  perhaps,  who  travelled  the 
country  with  an  entertainment  in  which  he  was  the  sole  performer. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  house  lost  pretty  Miss  Stone,  humorous 
Kit  Bullock  (Wilks's  son-in-law),^and  busy  George  Pack ;  the  last, 
the  original  Marplot,  Lissardo,  and  many  similar  characters.  Pack 
turned  vintner  in  Charing  Cross.  Qum's  ability  was  nightly  more 
appreciated. 


PROGKESS  OF  QUIN,  AND  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   251 

There  was  more  "study"  for  theDrury  Lane  actors  in  1V22-23. 
Mrs.  Centlivre's  muse  died  calmly  out  with  the  comedy  of  the 
"  Artifice."  In  the  good  scenes  there  was  an  approach  to  senti- 
mental comedy,  more  fully  reached,  in  November,  by  Steele,  in  his 
"Conscious  Lovers,"  in  which  Booth  played  Young  Bevil,  and 
Mrs.  Oldfield  Indiana.  There  was  not  an  inferior  performer  in  any 
of  the  other  parts  of  this  comedy,  which  Fielding  sneers  at  by 
making  Parson  Adams  declare  that  there  were  things  in  it  that 
would  do  very  well  in  a  sermon.  Modern  critics  have  called  this 
comedy  dull,  but  decent ;  perhaps  because  Steele  affected  to  claim 
it  as  at  least  moral  in  its  tendency.  The  truth,  however,  is,  that 
it  is  excessively  indecent.  There  is  nothing  worse  in  Aphra 
Behn  than  the  remarks  made  to  Cimberton,  the  coxcomb  with 
reflection,  on  Lucinda.  This  fop,  played  by  Griffin,  is  for  winning 
a  beauty  by  the  rules  of  metaphysics.  There  is  more  pathos  than 
humor  in  this  comedy ;  the  author  of  which  had  now  recovered 
his  share  in  the  patent,  by  favor  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole ;  and  it  is 
by  directing  attention  only  to  such  scenes  as  those  between  Bevil 
and  Indiana,  or  between  the  former  and  his  friend  Myrtle  (Wilks), 
that  critics  have  not  correctly  declared  that  the  sentiments  are 
those  of  the  most  refined  morality !  For  the  ver}'  attempt  to 
render  them  so,  even  partially.  Sir  Richard  has  been  sneered  at, 
very  recently,  by  a  writer  who  looks  upon  Steele  as  a  fool  for 
preferring  to  make  Bevil  the  portrait  of  what  a  man  ought  to  be 
rather  than  what  man  really  was.  The  story  of  the  piece  is  ad- 
mirably manipulated  and  reformed  from  the  "  Andria"  of  Terence, 
though  Tom  (Gibber)  is  but  a  soriy  Davus. 

On  one  night  of  the  performance  of  this  play,  a  general  officer 
was  obsen^ed  in  the  boxes,  weeping  at  the  distresses  of  Indiana, 
The  circumstance  was  noted  to  Wilks,  who,  with  kindly  feeling 
ever  ready,  remarked,  "  I  am  certain  the  officer  will  fight  none  the 
worse  for  it !"  Steele  must  have  had  more  than  ordinary  power, 
if  he  could  draw  tears  from  martial  eyes  in  those  days. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Pope  set  the  author,  as  a  writer, 
below  Crowne ;  and  yet,  in  the  following  lines,  where  the  two 
are  mentioned,  there  is  no  very  complimentary  allusion  to  Sit 
Richard : 


252  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"When  simple  Macer,  now  of  high  renown, 
First  souglit  a  poet's  fortune  in  the  town, 
'Twas  all  th'  ambition  his  high  soul  could  feel, 
To  wear  red  stockings  and  to  dine  with  Steele. 
Some  ends  of  verse  his  betters  might  afford. 
And  gave  tlie  harmless  fellow  a  good  word : 
Set  up  with  these,  he  ventured  on  the  town, 
And  with  a  borrowed  play  outdid  poor  Crowne. 
There  he  stopped  short,  nor  since  has  writ  a  tittle, 
But  has  the  wit  to  make  the  most  of  little." 

Crowne,  at  least,  found  something  of  an  imitator  in  Ambrose 
Philips,  whose  tragedy,  "  Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucester"  (Duke, 
Booth ;  Beaufort,  Gibber ;  Margaret,  Mrs.  Oldficld  ;  Duchess  of 
Gloucester,  Mrs.  Porter),  was  produced  in  this  season.  It  was  the 
last  and  worst  of  Philips's  three  dramatic  essays.  The  insipid  ad- 
ditions in  the  scene  of  Beaufort's  death  are  justly  described  by 
Genest  as  being  in  Crowne's  vapid  and  senseless  fashion  ;  and  the 
public  would  not  accept  this  cold,  declamatory,  conversational 
play,  as  a  substitute  for  the  varied  incidents  which  go  to  the  ma- 
king up  of  the  second  part  of  Shakspeare's  "  Henry  VI." 

Even  in  Dr.  Johnson's  time,  "  it  was  only  remembered  by  its 
title ;"  we  may,  therefore,  here  take  leave  of  the  old  secretary  of 
the  Hanover  Club,  who  found  more  fortune  in  place  and  pension 
in  Ireland,  than  he  could  derive  from  poetry  and  play-writing  in 
England.  To  the  latter  country  he  returned  in  1748,  to  "enjoy 
himself,"  in  pursuit  of  which  end  he  died  the  following  year. 
Addison  once  thought  him  vs^ell-enough  provided  for,  by  being 
made  a  Westminster  justice.  "  Nay,"  said  Ambrose,  like  a  virtu- 
ous man  in  comedy,  "  though  poetry  be  a  trade  I  cannot  live  by, 
yet  I  scorn  to  owe  subsistence  to  another  which  I  ought  not  to 
live  by ;"  and  he  nobly  gave  up  the  justiceship — as  soon  as  he  was 
otherwise  provided  for! 

Philips  was  followed  by  an  inferior  author,  but  a  greater  man, 
Sir  Hildebrand  Jacob,  with  a  classical  tragedy,  "  Fatal  Constancy," 
in  which  all  the  unities  are  preserved ;  but  that  did  not  bring  it 
the  nearer  to  "  Cato." 

Then  followed,  in  the  summer  and  less  fashionable  portion  of 
the  season,  Savage's  tragedy,  "  Sir  Thomas  Overbitry,"  in  which 


PEOGRESS   OF   QUIN,   AND   DECLINE   OF   BOOTH.      253 

the  author  played,  very  indifferently,  the  hero.  At  this  time,  the 
hapless  young  man  was  not  widely  known,  except  to  those  friends 
on  whose  charity  he  lived  while  he  abused  it.  Favored  by  Wilks 
and  patronized  by  Theophilus  Gibber,  the  ragged,  rakish  fellow 
slunk  at  nights  into  the  theatre,  and  by  day  lounged  where  he 
could,  composing  his  tragedy  on  scraps  of  paper.  In  producing 
it,  ever-ready  Aaron  Hill  assisted  him ;  and  his  profits,  amounting 
to  about  £200,  gave  him  a  temporary  appearance  of  respectability. 
Savage  is  said  to  have  been  deeply  ashamed  of  having  turned 
actor ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  was  only  ashamed  of  having 
failed.  He  had  neither  voice,  figure,  nor  any  other  qualification 
for  sucli  a  profession.  The  tragedy  lived  but  three  days.  There 
is  something  adroit  in  the  conduct  of  the  plot,  and  evidence  of 
corrrectness  of  conjecture  as  to  the  truth  of  the  relations  between 
Overbury  and  Lady  Somerset, — but  there  was  no  vitality  therewith ; 
and  the  poet  gained  no  lasting  fame  by  the  effort. 

Mrs.  Haywood  followed  Savage's  example,  in  acting  in  her  own 
comedy,  "  A  Wife  to  be  Let ;"  but  as  this  and  other  original 
pieces  or  adaptations  passed  away  unheeded  or  disgraced,  I  may 
here  conclude  my  notice  of  this  season,  by  recording  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Bicknell,  a  woman,  or  rather  an  actress  of  merit,  and  the 
original  representative  of  Cherry,  in  the  "  Beaux'  Stratagem." 

Against  Drury,  the  liouse  in  the  Fields  long  struggled  in  vain. 
Audiences,  of  five  or  six  pounds  in  value,  discouraged  the  actors. 
Egleton  was  not  equal  to  Gibber ;  yet  the  "  Baron,"  as  he  was 
called,  from  having  assumed  the  title,  w;hen  squandering  his  little 
patrimony  in  France,  was  next  to  Golley  in  fops.  Quin,  Ryan, 
and  Boheme,  could  not  attract  like  Booth,  Wilks,  and  Gibber ;  and 
Hippisley  and  others,  acting  "  Julius  Caesar,"  as  a  comic  piece, 
was  not  a  happy  idea.  Not  more  so  was  that  of  turning  the 
story  of  "Cartouche,"  who  had  recently  been  broken  on  the 
wheel,  into  a  farce.  The  company  lost  their  best  actress,  too,  in 
Mrs.  Seymour,  whom  Boheme  married  and  took  off  the  stage,  to 
Ryan's  great  regret,  as  she  acted  admirably  up  to  him.  A  prom- 
ising actor,  too,  was  lost  to  the  troop,  in  young  Rackstraw.  In 
the  summer  vacation  he  was  playing  Darius,  in  a  booth  in  Moor- 
fields, — no  derogation  in  those  days.  In  the  scene  in  which 
he  is  attacked  by  Bessus  and  Nabarzanes,  one  of  the  latter  two 


254:  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

thrust  his  foil  at  the  King  so  awkwardly,  that  it  entered  the  eye 
pierced  his  brain,  and  laid  the  actor,  after  a  scream,  dead  upon 
the  hoards ! 

With  this  season,  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the  fortune  of  Lincoln's 
Inn  mended — thanks  to  the  impertinence  of  Colley  Gibber.  To 
the  latter,  a  tragedy  had  been  presented  by  a  modest  gentleman, 
of  a  good  old  Statlbrdshire  family,  named  Fenton.  He  was  forty 
years  of  age  at  tins  time.  Gibber  knew  his  antecedents,  that  his 
Jacobite  principles  had  been  an  obstacle  to  his  ordination,  for  which 
he  was  well  qualified,  and  that,  although  he  had  been  secretary 
and  tutor  in  the  family  of  Lord  Orrery,  Fenton  had  also  earned  his 
bread  in  the  humble  but  honorable  capacity  of  usher  in  a  boarding- 
school.  Golley  read  the  tragedy,  "  Mariamnc,"  and  after  keep- 
ing it  unnecessarily  long,  he  returned  it,  with  the  advice  that  Fen- 
ton should  stick  to  some  honest  calling,  and  cease  to  woo  the 
Muses.  Elijah  Fenton,  however,  had  friends  who  enabled  him  now 
to  live  independently  of  labor,  and  by  their  counsel  he  took 
"  Mariamne"  to  Rich,  who  immediately  brought  it  out,  with  Quin 
as  Sohemus,  Boheme  as  Herod,  and  Mrs.  Seymour  as  Mariamne 
— her  one,  great  creation. 

Boheme,  in  Herod,  played  well  up  to  the  Mariamne  of  Mrs. 
Seymour ;  but  he  could  not  approach  Mondory  in  that  character,  in 
the  French  play  by  Tristan.  Mondory  used  to  have  his  audience  on 
this  occasion,  departing  from  him  depressed,  silent,  wrapt  in  med- 
itation. He  surrendered  himself  entirely  to  the  part,  and  died  of 
the  consequences  of  his  efforts.  Herod  was  as  truly  the  name 
of  the  malady  to  which  he  succumbed,  as  Orestes  was  of  that  which 
killed  Montfleury,  as  he  was  playing  Oreste,  in  Racine's  tragedy 
of  "  Andromaque." 

The  old  story  of  Herod  and  Mariamne  is  so  simple  and  natural, 
.''  that  it  appeals  to  every  heart,  in  every  age.  Fenton  perilled  it  by  ad- 
ditions ;  but  the  tragedy  won  a  triumph,  and  the  poet  to  whom  Pope 
paid  about  £250  for  translating  f©ur  books  of  the  Odyssey  iov  him, 
netted  four  times  that  sum  by  this  drama.  He  became  famous, 
and  critics  did  not  note  the  false  quantity  which  the  Gambridge  man 
gave  to  the  penultimate  of  Salome.  Fenton  was  rendered  supreme- 
ly happy,  but  his  dramatic  fame  rests  on  this  piece  alone.  He  never 
wooed  Melpomene  again,  but  lived  calmly  the  brief  seven  years  of 


PKOGKESS  OF  QUIN,  AXD  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   255 

life  which  followed  his  success.  Like  Prior  dying  at  Wimpole,  the 
honored  guest  of  Harley,  Fcnton  died  at  Easthainpstead,  the  equally 
esteemed  guest  of  Sir  William  Trumbull,  son  of  King  William's 
secretary  of  state.  In  Pope's  well-known  epitaph,  Teuton's  char- 
acter is  beautifully  described  in  a  few  simple  lines. 

Aaron  Hill  was  the  exact  opposite  of  quiet  Fenton.  His  beech- 
nut oil  company  having  failed,  he  joined  Sir  Robert  Montgomery 
in  a  project  for  colonizing  South  CaroHna ;  and  this  too  provino- 
unproductive,  he  turned  to  the  stage,  and  brought  out  in  the  season 
of  1723-4,  at  Drury  Lane,  his  tragedy  of  "  Henry  V." — an  "im- 
provement" of  Shakspeare's  historical  play  of  the  same  name. 
Hill's  additions  comprise  a  Harriet  (Mis.  Thurmond),  for  whom 
he  invented  a  breeches  part  and  some  melo-dramatic  situations — 
especially  between  her  and  Henry  (Booth).  Hill  cut  out  all  Shak- 
speare's comic  characters ;  but  he  was  so  anxious  for  the  success  of 
the  piece,  that  he  spent  £200  of  his  own  on  the  scenery,  of  which 
he  made  a  present  to  the  managers :  after  all,  his  play  failed,  despite 
the  brilliant  Katherine  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  and  the  Dauphin  of  Wilks. 

More  successful  was  the  "  Captives,"  by  Gay.  The  ex-mercer 
was  now  a  poet,  whom  the  "quality"  petted;  but  he  was  not 
yet  at  the  summit  of  his  fame.  The  "Captives"  did  not  help 
to  raise  him.  The  story  was  found  unnatural,  and  the  style 
stilted.  A  Persian  captive  (Booth)  is  a  Joseph,  against  whom  the 
Median  Queen,  whom  he  has  offended,  vows  vengeance ;  in  pur- 
suit of  which,  love  and  murder  are  extensively  employed.  Mrs. 
Oldfield  had  one  good  scene  in  it  as  Cydene,  captive  wife  of  the 
Persian  Joseph,  for  whom  she  entertains  a  warm  regard,  of  which 
he  is  worthy ;  yet  these  actors,  well  seconded,  could  only  drag 
the  tragedy  through  seven  representations,  before  it  was  consigned 
to  oblivion.  But  the  company  was  strong  enough  to  make  their 
old  repertory,  with  Shakspeare  in  the  van,  attractive ;  and  they 
had  nothing  to  regret,  when  the  season  closed,  but  the  death  of 
Pinkethman,  who  for  two-and-thirty  years,  and  chiefly  at  Drury 
Lane,  had  been  the  most  irresistible  laughter-compeller  of  that 
stage,  on  which  he  had  originated  Beau  Clincher,  Old  Mirabel,  and 
a  score  of  similar  merry  characters. 

The  company  had  not  to  complain  ;  yet  the  managers  had  found 
it  necessary  to  support  their  stock-pieces  by  a  novelty — a  ballet-pan- 


256  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

tomime,  "  The  Necroniaiicer,"  by  the  younger  Thurmond,  a  dan- 
cing-master. Rich,  at  Lincoha's  Inn,  where  "  Edwin"  could  not  have 
drawn  a  shilling ;  where  Belisarius  (Boheme)  begged  an  obolus  in 
vain,  and  Hurst's  "  Roman  Maid"  (Paulina,  Mrs.  Moffat)  repre- 
sented a  hermit  as  dwelling  in  a  lone  cave,  near  the  Mount  Aven- 
tine — a  hermit  would  be  as  likely  to  be  found  in  a  wood  on  Snow 
Hill — Rich,  I  say,  improved  on  Thurmond's  idea,  by  producing  on 
the  20th  of  December,  1723,  "The  Necromancer,  or  the  History 
of  Dr.  Faustus,"  and  thereby  founded  pantomime,  as  it  has  been 
established  among  us,  at  least  during  the  Christmas  tide,  for  now 
a  hundred  and  forty  years. 

Rich,  with  his  "Necromancer,"  conjuredall  the  town  within  the 
ring  of  his  little  theatre.  The  splendor  of  the  scenes,  the  vastness 
of  the  machinery,  and  the  grace  and  ability  of  Rich  himself,  raised 
harlequinade  above  Shakspeare,  and  all  other  poets ;  and  Quin  and 
Ryan  were  accounted  little  of  in  comparison  with  the  motley  hero. 
The  pantomime  stood  prominently  in  the  bills  ;  during  the  nights 
of  its  attraction  the  prices  of  admission  were  raised  by  one-fourth, 
and  the  weekly  receipts  advanced  from  six  hundred  (if  the  house 
was  full  every  night,  which  had  been  a  rare  case  in  the  Fields)  to 
a  thousand  pounds.  The  advanced  price  displeased  the  public,  with 
whom  ultimately  a  compromise  was  made,  and  a  portion  returned 
to  those  who  chose  to  leave  the  house  before  the  pantomime  com- 
menced. 

While  the  drama  was  thus  yielding  to  the  attractions  of  pan- 
tomime, a  new  theatre  invited  the  public.  The  little  theatre  in 
the  Haymarket  opened  its  doors  for  the  first  time  on  the  12th  of 
September,  1723,  with  the  "French  Fop,"  of  which  the  author, 
Sandford,  says,  that  he  wrote  it  in  a  few  weeks,  when  he  was  but 
fifteen  years  of  age.  That  may  account  for  its  having  straightway 
died;  but  it  served  to  introduce  to  the  stage  the  utility  actor, 
Milward.     The  theatre  was  only  open  for  a  few  nights. 

Of  the  season  1724-25,  at  Drury  Lane,  there  is  little  to  be  said, 
save  that  the  inimitable  company  worked  well  and  profitably  in 
sterling  old  plays.  Wilks  returned  to  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  and  the 
public  laughed  at  Gibber's  quivering  tragedy  tones,  when  playing 
Achonus,  in  his  adaptation  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  False 
One."      In   "Caesar  in   Egypt,"   Anthony   and   Cleopatra  were 


PROGRESS   OF   QUIN,    AND   DECLINE   OF   BOOTH.      257 

played  by  Wilks  and  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who  were  never  more  happy 
than  when  making  love  on  the  stage.  This  was  the  sole  novelty 
of  the  season. 

In  the  Fields  there  was  more  of  it,  but  that  most  relied  on  was 
Rich's  "Harlequin  Sorcerer,"  produced  on  the  21st  of  January, 
1725.  The  "Bath  Unmasked"  was  the  only  original  comedy 
pi'oduced.  It  describes  Bath  as  made  up  of  very  unprincipled 
people,  with  a  good  lord  to  about  a  score  of  knaves  and  hussies. 
It  was  the  first  and  not  lucky  essay  of  miserable  Gabriel  Odingsell, 
who,  nine  years  later,  in  a  fit  of  madness,  hung  himself  in  his 
house.  Thatched  Court,  Westminster. 

Booth  was  more  brilliant  than  he  had  ever  yet  been,  in  the 
Drury  Lane  season  of  1725-2G.  In  Shakspeare  he  shone  con- 
spicuously, and  his  Hotspur  to  the  Prince  of  Wales  of  Giflfard, 
from  Dublin,  charmed  as  much  by  its  chivalry  as  Cato  did  by  its 
dignity.  Mrs.  Oldfield  enjoyed,  and  Mrs.  Gibber,  first  wife  of 
Theophilus,  claimed  the  favor  of  the  town ;  and  the  elder  Gibber 
surrendered  one  or  two  old  characters  to  a  younger  actor.  Bridge- 
water.  Amid  a  succession  of  old  dramas,  one  novelty  only  was 
offered,  a  translation  of  the  "  Hecuba"  of  Euripides,  with  slight 
variations.  The  author  was  Richard  West,  son-in-law  of  Bishop 
Burnet,  and  father  of  young  West,  the  early  friend  of  Walpole 
and  Gray.  His  play  was  acted  on  the  3d  of  February,  1726,  at 
which  time  West  was  Lord  Chancellor  of  Ireland.  On  the  first 
night  a  full  audience  would  not  listen  to  the  piece,  and  on  the 
next  two  nights  there  was  scarcely  an  audience  assembled  to 
listen.  Neither  Booth  as  Polymnestor,  nor  Mrs.  Porter  as 
Hecuba,  could  win  the  general  ear.  It  did  not  succeed,  wrote  the 
author,  "  because  it  was  not  heard.  A  rout  of  Vandals  in  the  gal- 
leries intimidated  the  young  actresses,  disturbed  the  audience,  and 
prevented  all  attention  ;  and,  I  believe,  if  the  verses  had  been  re- 
peated in  the  original  Greek,  they  would  have  been  understood 
and  received  in  the  same  manner."  The  young  actresses  were 
Mrs.  Brett  and  Mrs.  Gibber ;  the  latter  was  not  the  famous  lady 
of  that  name,  destined  to  the  highest  walks  of  tragedy.  Lord- 
Chancellor  West  died  in  December  of  this  year. 

The  above  single  play  was,  however,  worth  all  the  novelties 
produced  by  Rich  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.     These  were  comedies 


258  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

of  a  farcical  kind.  In  one  of  them,  the  "Capricious  Lovers,"  by 
Odingsell,  there  was  an  original  character,  Mrs.  Mincemode  (Mrs. 
Bullock),  who  "  grew  sick  at  the  sight  of  a  man,  and  refines  upon 
the  significancy  of  phrases,  till  she  resolves  common  observa- 
tions into  indecency."  In  the  "  French  Fortune-Tellcr,"  the  pub- 
lic failed  to  be  regaled  with  a  piece  stolen  from  Ravenscroft,  who 
had  stolen  his  from  the  French.  The  third  play  was  "  Money's 
the  Mistress,"  which  the  audience  damned,  in  spite  of  the  reputa- 
tion of  Southerne,  who,  with  this  failure,  closed  a  dramatic  career 
which  had  commenced  half  a  century  earlier.  In  its  course  he  had 
written  ten  plays,  the  author  of  which  had  this  in  common  with 
Shakspeare — that  he  was  born  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 

With  this  year,  1726-7,  came  the  first  symptom  of  a  "break- 
up" in  the  hitherto  prosperous  condition  of  Drury  Lane.  It  oc- 
curred in  the  first  long  and  serious  illness  of  Booth,  which  kept 
him  from  the  theatre,  three  long  and  weary  months  to  the  town. 
The  season  at  Drury  Lane,  however,  and  that  at  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  had  this  alike,  that  after  Booth's  welcome  return,  all  Lon- 
don was  excited  by  expectations  raised  by  comedies  whose  authors 
were  "  gentlemen,"  in  whose  success  the  "  quality,"  generally, 
were  especially  interested.  At  Drury  it  was  the  "  Rival  Modes," 
by  Moore  Smyth  ;  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  the  "  Dissembled 
Wanton,  or,  my  Son,  get  Money,"  by  Leonard  Welsted.  In  the 
former  piece,  there  is  a  gay  lover,  Bellamine  (Wilks),  wooing  the 
grave  Melissa  (Mrs.  Porter),  while  the  serious  Sagely  (Mills)  pays 
suit  to  the  sprightly  widow  Amoret  (Mrs.  Oldfield).  An  old 
beau  of  King  William's  time,  Earl  of  Late  Airs  (Gibber),  brings 
his  son  to  town  (Lord  Toupet,  a  modern  beau,  by  Theopliilus 
Gibber),  in  order  that  he  may  marry  Melissa,  with  her  father's 
consent.  Amoret  contrives  to  upset  this  arrangement,  and  the 
other  lovers  are  duly  united.  The  plot  was  good,  the  players  un- 
surpassable, the  two  Gibbers  fooling  it  to  the  top  of  their  bent, 
and  old  and  new  fashions  were  pleasantly  contrasted ;  but  the  ac- 
tion was  languid,  and  the  piece  was  hissed. 

The  incident  lacking  here,  abounded  in  Welsted's  intriguing 
comedy,  the  "  Dissembled  Wanton,"  a  character  finely  acted  by 
Mrs.  Younger, — whose  marriage  with  Beaufort  (Walker)  being 
forbidden  by  lier  father.  Lord  Severne  (Quin),  by  whom  she  had 


PROGRESS   OF   QUIN,   AND   DECLINE   OF   BOOTH.      259 

been  sent  to  France,  she  reappears  in  her  father's  presence  as  Sir 
Harry  Trnelove,  wliose  real  character  is  known  only  to  Emilia 
(Mrs.  Bullock),  Lord  Severne's  ward.  Emilia's  intimacy  with  Sir 
Harry  causes  the  rupture  of  her  marriage  with  Colonel  Severne, 
and  some  coarse  scenes  have  to  be  got  through  before  all  is  ex- 
plained ;  the  respective  lovers  are  united,  and  Humphrey  Staple 
(Hall)  finds  it  useless  to  urge  his  son  Toby  (W.  Bullock)  to  get 
money  by  espousing  the  rich  ward  Emilia. 

Although  Welsted's  comedy  was  lively,  it  was  found  to  be  ill- 
written.  He  had  had  time  enough  to  polish  it,  for  ten  years  pre- 
vious to  its  production  Steele  had  commended  the  plot,  the  moral, 
and  the  style ;  he  had  even  praised  its  decency.  Like  Moore 
Smyth's,  it  could  not  win  tlie  town.  The  respective  authors,  who 
made  so  much  ineffectual  noise  in  their  own  day,  would  be  un- 
known to  us  in  this,  but  for  the  censure  of  Pope.  In  the  Dunciad 
they  enjoy  notoriety  with  Theobald,  or  Gibber,  Gildon,  Dennis, 
Centlivre,  and  Aaron  Hill.  Moore  was  an  Oxford  man,  who  as- 
sumed his  maternal  grandfather's  name — being  his  heir,  and  held 
one  or  two  lucrative  posts  under  Government.  His  father,  the 
famous  Arthur  Moore,  a  wit,  a  politician,  and  a  statesman,  who 
was  long  M.  P.  for  Grimsby,  had  risen,  by  force  of  his  talents,  to 
an  eminent  position,  from  a  humble  station.  Pope  stooped  to 
call  Moore  Smyth  the  son  of  a  footman,  and,  when  the  latter  name 
was  assumed  on  his  taking  his  maternal  grandfather's  estate,  the 
Whigs  lampooned  him  as  born  at  "  the  paternal  seat  of  his  family 
• — the  tap-house  of  tlie  prison-gate,  at  Monaghan." 

Moore  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Mapledurham  ladies — 
the  Blounts,  and  with  others  of  Pope's  friends,  as  well  as  with 
Pope  himself.  Some  tags  of  the  poet's  lines  he  had  introduced 
into  his  unlucky  comedy,  and  on  this  Pope  supported  a  grossly-ex- 
pressed and  weakly-founded  charge  of  plagiarism.  Welsted,  who 
was  of  a  good  Leicestershire  family,  and  of  fair  abilities,  had 
moved  Pope's  wrath  by  writing  satirical  verses  against  liim,  and 
the  feeling  was  embittered  when  the  two  dramatists  united  in 
addressing  One  Epistle  to  Pope,  in  which  thc}^  touched  him  more 
painfully  than  he  cared  to  confess.  Neither  Moore  nor  Welsted 
ever  tempted  fortune  on  the  stage  again.  "  Coestus  artemque 
repono,"  said  the  former,  on  the  title-page  of  his  comedy,  as  if  he 


260  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

was  rovenging  liimsclf  on  society.  Welstcd  confined  himself,  after 
some  skirmishing  with  his  critics,  to  his  duties  in  the  Ordnance 
Office.  His  wives  were  women  of  some  mark.  The  first  was  the 
daughter  of  Purcell ;  tlie  second  the  sister  of  Walker,  the  great 
defender  of  Londonderry, 

A  better  gentleman  than  either,  Philip  Frowde, — scholar,  wit, 
poet,  true  man,  friend  of  Addison,  and  a  friend  to  all, — was  praised 
by  tlie  critics  for  his  "  Fall  of  Saguntum ;"  but  the  pubUc  voice 
did  not  ratify  the  judgment,  though  Ryan,  as  Fabius,  and  Quin, 
as  Eurydamus,  with  Mrs.  Berriman,  as  Candace, — an  Amazonian 
queen,  with  nothing  very  womanly  about  her, — exerted  themselves 
to  the  utmost.  One  other  failure  has  to  be  recorded, — "  Philip 
of  Macedon,"  by  David  Lewis, — the  friend  of  Pope.  With  a  dull 
tragedy,  Pope's  friend  had  no  more  cliance  of  misleading  the  pub- 
lic, than  his  foes,  with  weak  comedies.  The  greater  poet's  com- 
mendation so  little  influenced  that  public,  that  on  the  first  night, 
with  Pope  himself  in  the  house,  the  audience  was  so  numerically 
small, — though  Walker,  Ryan,  Quin,  Mrs.  Berriman,  Mrs.  Younger, 
and  others,  were,  in  their  "  habits,"  as  unlike  Macedonians  as  they 
could  well  be, — the  managers  deemed  acting  to  such  a  house  not 
profitable,  and  dismissed  it  accordingly.  The  author's  final  con- 
demnation was  only  postponed  for  a  night  or  two,  when  he  sank, 
never  to  rise  again. 

With  Booth's  failing  health,  and  the  ill-success  of  novelties  pro- 
duced at  either  house,  there  was  a  gloom  over  theatrical  matters. 
But  at  this  very  time  a  sun  was  rising  from  behind  the  cloud.  In 
one  of  the  irregular  series  of  performances,  held  at  the  little  thea- 
tre in  the  Haymarket,  in  1726,  there  appeared  a  young  lady,  in 
the  part  of  Monimia,  in  the  "  Orphan,"  and  subsequently  as 
Cherry,  in  the  "  Beaux'  Stratagem."  She  was  pretty,  clever,  and 
eighteen  ;  but  she  was  not  destined  to  become  either  the  trag-ic 
or  the  comic  queen.  Soon  after,  however,  thanks  to  the  judgment 
of  Rich,  who  gave  her  the  opportunity,  she  was  hailed  as  the 
queen  of  English  song.  She  was  known  as  Lavinia  Fenton,  but 
ehe  was  the  daughter  of  a  naval  lieutenant,  named  Beswick.  Her 
widowed  mother  had  married  a  coffee-house  keeper  in  Charing 
Cross,  whose  name  of  Fenton  was  assumed  by  his  step-daughter. 
Before  we  shall  hear  of  her  at  Lincoln's  Lm  Fields,  a  licutenaat 


PEOGRESS   OF   QUIN,    AND   DECLINE   OF   BOOTH.      261 

will  be  offering  her  every  thing  he  possessed,  except  his  name ; 
but  Lavinia,  without  being  as  discreet,  was  even  more  successful 
than  Pamela,  and  died  a  duchess. 

Throughout  the  reign  of  George  I.,  Barton  Booth  kept  his 
position  as  the  first  English  tragedian, — undisturbed  even  by  the 
power  of  Quin.  Associated  with  him,  were  comedians, —  VVilks, 
Gibber,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  Porter,  Horton,  and  others,  who  shed 
splendor  on  the  stage,  at  this  period.  The  new  dramatic  poets  of 
that  reign  were  few,  and  not  more  than  one  of  those  few  can  be 
called  distinguished.  The  name  of  Young  alone  survives  in  the 
memory,  and  that  but  for  one  tragedy,  the  "  Revenge."  Of  com- 
edies, there  is  not  one  of  the  reign  of  George  I.  that  is  even  read 
for  its  merits.  It  is  otherwise  with  the  comedies  of  an  actress 
and  dramatist  who  died  in  this  reign, — Susanna  Centlivre  ;  and  yet 
a  contemporary  notice  of  her  death  simply  states  that,  as  an 
actress,  "  having  a  greater  inclination  to  wear  the  breeches  than 
the  petticoat,  she  struck  into  the  men's  parts ;"  and  that  the 
dramatist  "  had  a  small  wen  on  her  left  eyelid,  which  gave  her  a 
masculine  air." 

Eventful  to  both  houses  was  the  season  of  172Y-8.  It  was  the 
last  season  of  Booth,  at  Drury  Lane ;  and  it  was  the  first  of  the 
"Beggars'  Opera,"  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  After  thirty  years* 
service,  in  the  reigns  of  William,  Anne,  George  I.,  and  now  in 
that  of  George  II.,  in  which  Garrick  w^as  to  excel  him,  that 
admirable  actor  was  compelled,  by  shattered  health,  to  withdraw. 
For  many  nights  he  played  Henry  VIIL,  and  walked  in  the 
coronation  scene,  which  was  tacked  to  various  other  plays,  in 
honor  of  the  accession  of  George  II.,  who,  with  the  royal  family, 
went,  on  the  Tth  of  November,  to  witness  Booth  enact  the  King. 
On  the  9th  of  January,  Booth,  after  a  severe  struggle,  played  for 
the  sixth  and  last  time,  Julio,  in  the  "Double  Falsehood;"  a  play 
which  Theobald  ascribed  to  Shakspeare ;  Dr.  Farmer,  to  Shirley ; 
others,  to  Massinger ;  but  which  was  chiefly  Theobald's  own, 
founded  on  a  manuscript  copy  which,  through  Downes,  the 
prompter,  had  descended  to  him  from  Betterton  ;  and  which  served 
Colman,  who  certainly  derived  his  Octavian  from  Julio. 

The  loss  in  Booth  was,  in  some  degree,  supplied  by  the  "  profit" 
arising  from  a  month's  run  of  a  new  comedy  by  Vanbrugh  and 


262  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Cibber, — the  "  Provoked  Husband ;"  in  which  the  Lord  and  Lady 
Townley  were  phiyed  by  these  incomparable  lovers, — Wilks  and 
Mrs.  Oldfield.  Cibber  acted  Sir  Francis  Wronghead,  and  young 
Wethercll,  Squire  Richard.  Vanbrugh  was  at  this  time  dead — 
in  1726,  at  his  house  in  Whitehall,  of  quinsy.  The  critics  and 
enemies  of  Cibber  were  sadly  at  fault,  on  this  occasion.  Hating 
him  for  his  "  Nonjuror,"  they  hissed  all  the  scenes  of  which  they 
supposed  him  to  be  the  author ;  and  applauded  those  which  they 
were  sure  were  by  Vanbrugh.  Cibber  published  the  imperfect 
play  left  by  Sir  John,  and  thereby  showed  that  his  adversaries 
condemned  and  approved  exactly  in  the  wrong  places. 

Cibber  enjoyed  another  triumph  this  season.  Steele,  abandon- 
ing the  responsibilities  of  management,  to  follow  his  pleasure,  liad 
submitted  to  a  deduction  of  £l  13s.  4d.,  nightly,  to  each  of  his 
partners,  for  performing  his  duties.  Steele  was  at  this  time  in 
Wales,  dying,  though  he  survived  till  September,  1729.  His 
creditors,  meanwhile,  claimed  the  "  five  marks"  as  their  own,  and 
tlie  case  went  into  the  Rolls  Court,  before  Sir  Joseph  Jekyll. 
Cibber  pleaded  in  person  the  cause  of  himself  and  active  partners, 
and  so  convincingly,  that  he  obtained  a  decree  in  their  favor. 

In  presence  of  this  new  audience,  the  old  actor  confesses  he  felt 
fear.  He  carried  with  him  the  heads  of  what  he  was  about  to 
urge ;  but,  says  Colley,  "  when  it  came  to  the  critical  moment, 
the  dread  and  apprehension  of  what  I  had  undertaken  so  discon- 
certed my  courage,  that  though  I  had  been  used  to  talk  to  above 
fifty  thousand  people  every  winter,  for  upwards  of  thirty  years 
together,  an  involuntary  and  unexpected  proof  of  confusion  fell 
from  my  eyes ;  and  as  I  found  myself  quite  out  of  my  element,  I 
seemed  rather  gasping  for  life,  than  in  a  condition  to  cope  with 
the  eminent  orators  against  me."  Cibber,  liowever,  recovered 
himself,  and  vanquished  his  adversaries,  though  two  of  them  were 
of  the  stuff  that  won  for  them,  subsequently,  the  dignity  of  Lord 
Chancellor. 

The  "  Beggars'  Opera"  season  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  was  the 
most  profitable  ever  known  there.  Swift's  idea  of  a  Newgate  pas- 
toral was  adopted  by  Gay,  who,  smarting  under  disappointment  of 
preferment  at  court,  and  angry  at  the  offer  to  make  him  gentle- 
man-usher to  the  youngest  of  the  royal  children,  indulged  his 


PROGRESS  OF  QUIN,  AND  DECLINE  OF  BOOTH.   263 

satirical  humor  against  ministers  and  placemen,  by  writing  a  New 
gate  comedy,  at  which  Swift  and  Pope  shook  their  heads,  and  old 
Congreve,  for  one  of  whose  three  sinecures  Gay  would  have  given 
his  ears,  was  sorely  perplexed  as  to  whether  it  would  bring  triumph 
or  calamity  to  its  author.  The  songs  were  added,  but  Gibber,  as 
doubtful  as  Congreve,  declined  what  Rich  eagerly  accepted,  and 
the  success  of  which  was  first  discerned  by  the  Duke  of  Argyle, 
from  his  box  on  the  stage,  who  looked  at  the  house,  and  "  saw  it 
in  the  eyes  of  them." 

Walker,  who  had  been  playing  tragic  parts,  and  very  recently 
Macbeth,  was  chosen  for  Macheath,  on  Quin  declining  the  high- 
wayman. Lavinia  Fenton  was  the  Polly ;  Peachem,  by  Hippis- 
ley;  and  Spiller  made  a  distinctive  character  of  Mat  o'  the  Mint. 
Walker  "  knew  no  more  of  music  than  barely  singing  in  tune ; 
but  then  his  singing  was  supported  by  his  inimitable  action,  by 
his  speaking  to  the  eye  and  charming  the  ear."  It  was  at  the 
close  of  a  long  run  of  the  piece  that  Walker  once  tripped  in  his 
words.  "  I  wonder,"  said  Rich,  "  that  you  should  forget  the 
words  of  a  part  you  have  played  so  often !" — "  Do  you  think," 
asked  Walker,  with  happy  equivocation,  "that  a  man's  memory  is 
to  last  for  ever  ?" 

Sixty-two  nights  in  this  season  the  "  Beggars'  Opera"  drew 
crowded  houses.  Highwaymen  grew  fashionable,  and  ladies  not 
only  carried  fans  adorned  with  subjects  from  the  Opera,  but  sang 
the  lighter,  and  hummed  the  coarser,  songs.  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 
who  was  present  on  the  first  night,  finding  the  eyes  of  the  audience 
turned  on  him  as  Lockit  was  singing  his  song  touching  courtiers 
and  bribes,  was  the  first  to  blunt  the  point  of  the  satire,  by  calling 
encore.  Swift  says,  "  two  great  ministers  were  in  a  box  together, 
and  all  the  world  staring  at  them."  At  this  time  it  was  said  that 
the  quarrel  of  Peachem  and  Lockit  was  an  imitation  of  that  of 
Brutus  and  Cassius,  but  the  public  discerned  therein  Walpole  and 
his  great  adversary  Townshend. 

"  The  Beggars'  Opera"  hath  knocked  down  Gulliver,  wrote 
Swift  to  Gay.  "  I  hope  to  see  Pope's  '  Dulness'  (the  first  name 
of  the  Dunciad)  knock  down  the  '  Beggars'  Opera,'  but  not  till  it 
Lath  fully  done  its  job."  But  Gay  had  no  "  mission ;"  he  only 
Bought  to  gratify  himself  and  the  town  ;  to  satirize,  not  to  teach 


264  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

or  to  warn ;  the  "  opera"  made  "  Gay  rich,  and  Rich  gay  ;"  the 
former  sufficiently  so  to  make  him  forego  earning  a  fee  of 
twenty  guineas  by  a  dedication,  and  the  latter  only  so  far  sad,  that 
at  the  end  of  the  season,  Lavinia  FentoTi,  after  two  benefits,  was 
taken  off  the  stage  by  tlie  Duke  of  Bolton.  The  latter  had  from 
his  wedding-day  hated  his  wife,  daughter  and  sole  heiress  of  the 
Earl  of  Carbery ;  but  his  love  for  Lavinia  was  so  abounding,  that 
on  his  wife's  death,  he  made  a  Duchess  of  "Polly;"  but  their 
three  sons  were  not  born  at  a  time  that  rendered  either  of  them 
heir  to  the  ducal  caronet,  which,  in  1754,  passed  to  the  Duke's 
brother.  Gay's  author's  night  realized  a  gain  to  him  of  £700, 
and  enabled  him  to  dress  in  "silver  and  blue."  While  he  is 
blazing  abroad,  the  once  great  master.  Booth,  is  slowly  dying  oat. 
Let  us  tell  his  varied  story  as  his  life  ebbs  surely  away. 


BARTON   BOOTH.  265 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


BARTON    BOOTH. 


At  this  period  it  was  evident  that  the  stage  was  about  to  lose 
Jts  greatest  tragedian  since  the  death  of  Betterton,  Booth  was 
stricken  past  recovery,  and  all  the  mirth  caused  by  the  "  Beggars' 
Opera"  could  not  make  his  own  peculiar  public  forget  him. 
Scarcely  eight-and-thirty  years  had  elapsed  since  the  time  when 
in  1690,  a  handsome,  well-bred  lad,  whose  age  did  not  then 
amount  to  two  lustres,  sought  admission  into  Westminster  School. 
Dr.  Busby  thought  him  too  young ;  but  young  Barton  Booth  was 
the  son  of  a  gentleman,  was  of  the  family  of  Booth,  Earl  of 
Warrington,  and  was  a  remarkably  clever  and  attractive  boy.  The 
Doctor,  whose  acting  had  been  commended  by  Charles  I.,  perhaps 
thought  of  the  school-plays,  and  recognized  in  little  Barton  the 
promise  of  a  lover  in  Terence's  comedies.  At  all  events,  he  ad- 
mitted the  applicant. 

Barton  Booth,  a  younger  son  of  a  Lancashire  sire,  was  destined 
for  Holy  Orders.  He  was  a  fine  elocutionist,  and  he  took  to 
Latin  as  readily  as  Erasmus ;  but  then  he  had  Nicholas  Rowe  for 
a  school-fellow ;  and,  one  day,  was  cast  for  Pamphilus  in  the 
"  Andria."  Luckily,  or  unluckily,  he  played  this  prototype  of 
young  Bevil  in  Steele's  "  Conscious  Lovers"  with  such  ease,  per- 
fection, and  charming  intelligence,  that  the  old  dormitory  shook 
with  plaudits.  The  shouts  of  approbation  changed  the  whole  pur- 
pose of  his  sire ;  they  deprived  the  Church  of  a  graceful  clergy- 
man, and  gave  to  the  stage  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  our 
actors. 

He  was  but  seventeen,  when  his  brilliarit  folly  led  him  to  run 
away  from  home,  and  tempt  fortune,  by  playing  Oronooko,  in 
Dublin.  The  Irish  audiences  confirmed  the  judgment  of  the  West- 
minster critics,  and  the  intelligent  lad  moved  the  hands  *of  the 
men  a: id  the  hearts  of  the  women,  without  a  check,  during  a 
Vol.  1.-^12 


2G6  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

glorious  three  years  of  probation.  And  yet  he  narrowly  escaped 
failure,  through  a  ridiculous  accident,  when  in  1698,  he  made  his 
debut  as  Oronooko.  It  was  a  sultry  night,  in  June.  While  wait- 
ing to  go  on,  before  his  last  scene,  he  inadvertently  wiped  his 
darkened  face,  and  the  lamp-black  tliereon  came  ofl"  in  streaks. 
On  entering  on  the  stage,  unconscious  of  the  countenance  he 
presented,  he  was  saluted  with  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  became 
much  confused.  The  generous  laughers  then  sustained  liim  by 
loud  applause.  But  Booth  was  disturbed  by  this  accident,  and  to 
obviate  its  repetition,  he  went  on,  the  next  night  in  a  crape  mask, 
made  by  an  actress  to  fit  close  to  his  face.  Unfortunately,  in  the 
first  scene  the  mask  slipped,  and  the  new  audience  were  as  hila- 
rious as  the  old.  "  I  looked  like  a  magpie,"  said  Barton ;  "  but 
they  lamp-blacked  me  for  the  rest  of  the  night,  and  I  was  flayed 
before  I  could  get  it  off  again."  The  mishap  of  the  first  night  did 
not  affect  his  triumph ;  this  was  so  complete,  that  Ashbury,  the 
"master,"  made  him  a  present  of  five  guineas  ;  bright  forerunners 
of  the  fifty  that  were  to  be  placed  in  his  hands  by  delighted 
Bolingbroke. 

The  hitherto  penniless  player  was  now  fairly  on  the  first  step  of 
the  ascent  it  was  liis  to  accomplish.  When  he  subsequently 
passed  through  Lancashire  to  London,  in  lYOl,  his  fame  had 
gone  before  him ;  he  reached  the  capital  with  his  manly  beauty 
to  gain  him  additional  fixvor,  with  a  heavy  purse,  and  a  steady 
conviction  of  even  better  fortune  to  come.  AVith  such  a  person- 
age, his  hitherto  angry  kinsmen  were,  of  course,  reconciled  forth- 
with. 

One  morning  early  in  that  year,  1701,  he  might  have  been  seen 
leaving  Lord  Fitzharding's  rooms  at  St.  James's,  with  Bowman, 
the  player,  and  making  his  way  to  Betterton's  house  in  Great 
Russell  Street.  From  the  lord  in  waiting  to  Prince  George  of 
Denmark,  he  carries  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  the  father  of 
the  stage ;  and  generous  old  Thomas,  jealous  of  no  rival,  de- 
preciator  of  no  talent,  gave  the  stranger  a  hearty  welcome  ;  heard 
his  story,  asked  for  a  t;istc  of  his  quality,  imparted  good 
counsel,  took  him  into  training,  and  ultimately  brought  him  out 
at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  1701,  as  Maximus,  in  Rochester's  •' Val- 
i»r>tinian."      Betterton    played  vEtius,    and   Mrs.    Barry,    Lucina. 


BARTON  BOOTH.  267 

These  two  alone  were  enough  to  dannt  so  yonug  an  actor;  but 
Booth  was  not  vain  enough  to  be  too  modest,  and  the  public  at 
once  hailed  in  him  a  new  charmer.  His  ease,  grace,  fire,  and  the 
peculiar  harmony  of  his  voice,  altogether  distinct  from  that  of 
Betterton's,  created  a  great  impression.  "  Booth  with  the  silver 
tongue,"  gained  the  epithet  before  Barry  was  bom.  Westminster 
scbsequently  celebrated  him  in  one  of  her  school  prologues : 

"  Old  Roscius  to  our  Booth  must  bow, — 
'Twas  then  but  art,  'lis  nature  now." 

and  the  district  was  proud  of  both  players :  of  the  young  one  of 
gentle  blood,  educated  in  St.  Peter's  College ;  and  of  the  old  one, 
the  royal  cook's  son,  who  was  christened  in  St.  Margaret's,  August 
12,  1635. 

At  first.  Booth  was  thought  of  as  a  promising  under-graduate 
of  the  buskin,  and  he  had  faults  to  amend.  He  confessed  to  Gib- 
ber that  "  he  had  been  for  some  time  too  frank  a  lover  of  the  bottle ;" 
but  having  the  tipsiness  of  Powell  ever  before  him  as  a  terrible 
warning,  he  made  a  resolution  of  maintaining  a  sobriety  of  char- 
acter, from  which  he  never  departed.  Gibber  pronounces  this  to 
be  "  an  uncommon  act  of  philosophy  in  a  young  man  ;"  but  he 
adds,  that  "  in  his  fame  and  fortune  he  afterwards  enjoyed  the 
reward  and  benefit." 

For  a  few  years,  then,  Booth  had  arduous  work  to  go  through, 
and  every  sort  of  "  business"  to  play.  The  House  in  the  Fields, 
too,  suffered  from  the  tumblers,  dancers,  and  sagacious  animals, 
added  to  the  ordinary  and  well-acted  plays  at  the  House  in  the 
Lane.  Leisure  he  had  also  amid  all  his  labor,  to  pay  successful 
suit  to  a  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a  Norfolk  baronet,  Sir 
William  Barkham,  whom  he  married  in  1704.  The  lady  died 
childless  six  years  later.  Till  this  last  period — that,  too,  of  the 
death  of  Betterton — Booth  may  be  said  to  have  been  in  his  minor- 
ity as  an  actor,  or,  as  Gibber  puts  it,  "  only  in  the  promise  of  that 
reputation,"  which  he  soon  after  happily  arrived  at.  Not  that 
when  that  was  gained  he  deemed  himself  perfect.  The  longest  life, 
he  used  to  say,  was  not  long  enough  to  enable  an  actor  to  be  per- 
fect  in  his  art. 

Previous  to  1710  he  had  created  many  new  characters  ;  among 


268  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

others,  Dick,  in  the  "  Confederacy  ;"  and  he  had  played  the  Ghost 
in  "  Hamlet,"  with  such  extraordinary  power,  such  a  supernatural 
effect,  so  solemn,  so  majestic,  and  so  affecting,  that  it  was  only 
second  in  attraction  to  the  Dane  of  Betterton.  But  PyiThus  and 
Cato  wore  yet  to  come.  Meanwhile,  soon  after  his  wife's  death, 
he  played  Captain  Worthy,  in  the  "  Fair  Quaker  of  Deal,"  to  the 
Dorcas  Zeal  of  Miss  Santlow,  destined  to  be  his  second  wife — but 
not  just  yet. 

The  two  great  characters  created  by  him,  between  the  year 
when  he  played  with  Miss  Santlow  in  Charles  Shadwell's  comedy, 
and  that  in  which  he  married  her,  were  Pyrrhus,  in  the  "  Dis- 
tressed Mother"  (1712),  and  "Cato"  (1713).  Within  the  limits 
stated.  Booth  kept  household  with  poor  Susan  Mountfort,  the 
daughter  of  the  abler  actress  of  that  name.  At  such  arrangements 
society  took  small  objection,  and  beyond  the  fact,  there  was 
nothing  to  carp  at  in  Barton's  home.  The  latter  was  broken  up, 
however — the  lady  being  in  fault,  in  1718 — when  Booth,  who  had 
been  the  faithful  vSteward  of  Susan's  savings,  consigned  to  her 
£3,200,  which  were  speedily  squandered  by  her  next  "friend," 
Mr.  Minshull.  The  hapless  young  creature  became  insane ;  in 
which  condition  it  is  credibly  asserted  that  she  one  night  went 
through  the  part  of  Ophelia,  with  a  melancholy  wildness  which 
rendered  many  of  her  hearers  almost  as  distraught  as  herself; 
soon  after  which  she  died.  Meanwhile,  her  more  faithful  friend, 
the  acknowledged  successor  of  Betterton,  achieved  his  two  great- 
est triumphs — in  characters  originally  represented  by  him — Pyr- 
rhus and  Cato.  Those  who  have  experienced  the  afBiction  of  see- 
ing or  reading  the  "  Distressed  Mother,"  may  remember  that  the 
heaviest  part  in  that  heavy  play  is  that  of  Pyrrhus.  But  in  acting 
it.  Booth  set  the  Orestes  of  less  careful  Powell  in  the  shade. 
"  His  entrance,"  says  Victor,  "  his  walking  and  mounting  to  the 
throne,  his  sitting  down,  his  manner  of  giving  audience  to  the 
ambassador,  his  rising  from  the  throne,  his  descending  and  leaving 
the  stage — though  circumstances  of  a  very  common  character  in 
theatrical  performances,  yet  were  executed  by  him  with  a  grandem 
not  to  be  described." 

But  it  is  with  "  Cato"  that  Booth  is  identified.  Fortunate  it 
was  for  him  that  the  play  Addison  had  kept  so  long  in  his  desk 


BARTON   BOOTH.  269 

was  not  printed,  according  to  Pope's  advice,  for  readers  only. 
Fortunate,  too,  was  the  actor  in  the  political  coincidences  of  the 
time.  Marlborough,  now  a  Whig,  had  asked  to  be  appointed 
"  coramander-iu-chief  for  life."  Harley,  Bolingbroke,  and  the 
other  Tories,  described  this  as  an  attempt  to  establish  a  perpetual 
dictatorship.  The  action  and  the  sentiment  of  "  Cato"  are  antago- 
nistic to  such  an  attempt,  and  the  play  had  a  present  political,  as 
well  as  a  great  dramatic  interest.  Common  consent  gave  the  part 
of  the  philosopher  of  Utica  to  Booth ;  Addison  named  young 
Ryan,  son  of  a  Westminster  tailor,  as  Marcus,  and  the  young 
fellow  justified  the  nomination.  Wilks,  Gibber,  and  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
filled  the  other  principal  parts.  Addison  surrendered  all  claim  to 
profit,  and  on  the  evening  of  April  14th,  1Y13,  there  was  excite- 
ment and  expectation  on  both  sides  of  the  curtain. 

Booth  really  surpassed  himself;  his  dignity,  pathos,  energy, 
were  all  worthy  of  Betterton,  and  yet  were  in  nowise  after  the 
old  actor's  manner.  The  latter  was  forgotten  on  this  night,  and 
Booth  occupied  exclusively  the  public  eye,  ear,  and  heart.  The 
public  judgment  answered  to  the  public  feeling.  The  Tories  ap- 
plauded every  line  in  favor  of  popular  liberty,  and  the  Whigs 
sent  forth  responsive  peals  to  show  that  they,  too,  were  advo- 
cates of  popular  freedom.  The  pit  was  in  a  whirlwind  of  deli- 
cious agitation,  and  the  Tory  occupants  of  the  boxes  were  so 
affected  by  the  acting  of  Booth,  that  Bolingbroke,  when  the  play 
was  over,  sent  for  the  now  greatest  actor  of  the  day,  and  presented 
him  with  a  purse  containing  fifty  guineas,  the  contributions  of  gen- 
tlemen who  had  experienced  the  greatest  delight  at  the  energy 
with  which  he  had  resisted  a  perpetual  dictatorship,  and  main- 
tained the  cause  of  public  liberty !  The  managers  paid  the  actor 
a  similar  pecuniary  compliment,  and  for  five-and-thiity  consecutive 
nights  "  Cato"  filled  Drury  Lane,  and  swelled  the  triumph  of  Bar- 
ton Booth.  There  was  no  longer  any  thing  sad  in  the  old  ex- 
clamation of  Steele, — "  Ye  gods  !  what  a  part  would  Betterton 
make  of  Cato !"  The  managers,  Wilks,  Cibber,  and  Doggett, 
were  as  satisfied  as  the  public,  for  the  share  of  profit  to  each,  at 
the  end  of  this  eventful  season,  amounted  to  £1,350 ! 

When  Booth  and  his  fellow-actors,  after  the  close  of  the  Lon- 
don season,  went  to  Oxford,  to  play  "  Cato,"  before  a  learned  and 


270  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

critical  audience,  "  our  house  was  in  a  manner  invested,  and  en- 
trance demanded  by  twelve  o'clock  at  noon ;  and  before  one,  it 
was  not  wide  enougb  for  many  who  came  too  late  for  places. 
The  same  crowds  continued  for  three  days  together  (an  uncom- 
mon curiosity  in  that  place),  and  the  death  of  Cato  triumphed 
over  the  injuries  of  Caesar  everywhere.  At  our  taking  leave,  we 
had  the  thanks  of  the  Vice-Chancellor,  '  for  the  decency  and  order 
observed  by  our  whole  society ;'  an  honor,"  adds  Gibber,  proudly, 
"  which  had  not  always  been  paid  on  the  same  occasion."  Four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  clear  profit  were  shared  by  the  mana- 
gers, who  gave  the  actors  double  pay,  and  sent  a  contribution  of 
£50  towards  the  repairs  of  St.  Mary's  Church. 

The  church,  of  which  Booth  was  intended  to  be  a  minister, 
added  its  approbation,  through  Dr.  Smalridge,  Dean  of  Carlisle, 
who  was  present  at  the  perfoi-mance  in  Oxford.  "  I  heartily  wish 
all  discourses  from  the  pulpit  were  as  instructive  and  edifying,  as 
pathetic  and  affecting,  as  that  which  the  audience  was  then  enter- 
tained with  fi'om  the  stage."  This  is  a  reproach  to  church-preach- 
ers at  the  cost  of  a  compliment  to  Booth ;  and  old  Compton,  ex- 
dragoon,  and  now  dying  Bishop  of  London,  would  not  have 
relished  it.  Some  of  the  metropolitan  pulpits  were,  no  doubt, 
less  "  entertaining"  than  the  stage,  but  many  of  them  were  held 
to  good  purpose ;  and,  as  for  the  Nonconformist  chapels,  of  which 
Smalridge  knew  nothing, — there,  enthusiastic  Pomfret  and  Mat- 
thew Clarke  were  drawing  as  great  crowds  as  Booth ;  Bradbury, 
that  cheerful-minded  patriarch  of  the  Dissenters,  was  even  more 
entertaining ;  while  Neale  was  pathetic  and  earnest  in  Aldersgate 
Street ;  and  John  Gale,  aflfecting  and  zealous,  amid  his  eager 
hearers  in  Barbican.  There  is  no  greater  mistake  than  in  suppo- 
sing that  at  this  time  the  whole  London  world  was  engaged  in 
resorting  exclusively  to  the  theatres,  and  especially  to  behold 
Booth  in  Cato. 

The  grandeur  of  this  piece  has  become  somewhat  dulled,  but  it 
contains  more  true  sayings  constantly  quoted  than  any  other  Eng- 
lish work,  save  Gray's  Elegy.  It  has  been  translated  into  French, 
Italian,  Latin,  and  Russian,  and  has  been  played  in  Italy  and  in 
the  Jesuits'  College  at  St.  Omer.  Pope  adorned  it  with  a  pro- 
logue; Dr.  Garth  trimmed  it  with  an  epilogue;  dozens  of  poets 


BARTOX   BOOTH.  271 

\»,  :>te  testimonial  verses ;  tippling  Eusden  gave  it  his  solemn  sanc- 
tion, while  Dennis,  with  some  "  horseplay  raillery,"  but  with  irre- 
futable argument,  inexorably  proved  that,  despite  beauties  of  dic- 
tion, it  is  one  of  the  most  absurd,  inconsistent,  and  unnatural  plays 
ever  conceived  by  poet.  But,  Johnson  remarks  truly,  "as  we 
love  better  to  be  pleased  than  to  be  taught,  Cato  is  read,  and  the 
critic  is  neglected." 

Booth  reaped  no  brighter  triumph  than  in  this  character,  in 
which  he  has  had  worthy,  but  never  equally  able  successors.  Bo- 
heme  was  respectable  in  it ;  Quin  imposing,  and  generally  success- 
ful ;  Sheridan,  conventional,  but  grandly  eloquent ;  Mossop, 
heavy ;  Walker,  a  failure  ;  Digges,  stagy ;  Kemble,  next  to  the 
original ;  Pope,  "  mouthy ;"  Cooke,  altogether  out  of  his  line ; 
Wright,  weak ;  Young,  traditional  but  effective ;  and  Vandenhoff, 
classically  correct  and  statuesque.  In  Cato,  the  name  of  Booth 
stands  supreme  ;  in  that,  the  kinsman  of  the  Earls  of  Warrington 
was  never  equalled.  It  was  his  good  fortune,  too,  not  to  be  ad- 
mired less  because  of  the  affection  for  Betterton  in  the  hearts  of 
6ur\'iving  admirers.     This  is  manifest  from  the  lines  of  Pope — 

"  On  Avon's  bank  where  flowers  eternal  blow, 
If  I  but  ask, — if  any  weed  can  grow  ? — 
One  tragic  sentence  if  I  dare  deride, 
"Which  Betterton's  grave  action  dignified, 
Or  well-mouthed  Booth  with  emphasis  proclaims, 
(Though  but  perhaps  a  muster-roll  of  names) 
How  will  our  fathers  rise  up  in  a  rage, 
And  swear  all  shame  is  lost  in  George's  age  I" 

The  performance  of  Cato  raised  Booth  to  fortune  as  well  as  to 
fame  ;  and  through  Bolingbroke  he  was  appointed  to  a  share  in 
the  profits  of  the  management  of  Drury  Lane,  with  Cibber,  Wilks, 
and  Doggett.  The  last-named,  thereupon,  retired  in  disgust,  with 
compensation ;  and  Cibber  hints  that  Booth  owed  his  promotion 
as  much  to  his  Tory  sentiments  as  to  his  merits  in  acting  Cato. 
The  new  partner  had  to  pay  £G00  for  his  share  of  the  stock  prop- 
erty, "  which  was  to  be  paid  by  such  sums  as  should  arise  from 
half  his  profits  of  acting,  till  the  whole  was  discharged."  This 
incumbrance  upon  his  share  he  discharged  out  of  the  income  he 
received  in  the  first  year  of  his  joint  management. 


272  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

His  fame,  liowever,  by  this  time  had  cuhninated.  He  sustained 
it  well,  but  he  cannot  be  said  to  have  increased  it.  No  other 
such  a  creation  as  Cato  fell  to  his  lot.  Young  and  Thomson 
could  not  serve  him  as  Addison  and  opportunity  had  done,  and 
if  he  can  be  said  to  have  won  additional  laurels  after  Cato,  it  was 
in  the  season  of  1722-23,  when  he  played  Young  Bevil,  in  Steele's 
"  Conscious  Lovers,"  with  a  success  which  belied  the  assertion 
that  he  was  inefficient  in  genteel  comedy.  The  season  of  1725-26 
was  also  one  of  his  most  brilliant. 

Meanwhile,  a  success  off  the  stage  secured  him  as  much  happi- 
ness as,  on  it,  he  had  acquired  wealth  and  reputation.  The  home 
he  had  kept  with  Susan  Mountfort  was  broken  up.  In  the  course 
of  this  "  intimate  alliance  of  strict  friendship,"  as  the  moral  euphu- 
ists  called  it,  Booth  had  acted  with  remarkable  generosity  towards 
the  lady.  In  the  year  1714,  they  bought  several  tickets  in  the 
State  Lottery,  and  agreed  to  share  equally  whatever  fortune  might 
ensue.  Booth  gained  nothing ;  the  lady  won  a  prize  of  £5,000, 
and  kept  it.  His  friends  counselled  him  to  claim  half  the  sum, 
but  he  laughingly  remarked  that  there  had  never  been  any  but  a 
verbal  agreement  on  the  matter ;  and  since  the  result  had  been 
fortunate  for  his  friend,  she  should  enjoy  it  all. 

A  truer  friend  he  found  in  Miss  Santlow,  the  "  Santlow  famed 
for  dance,"  of  Gay.  From  the  ballet  she  had  passed  to  the  digni- 
ty of  an  actress,  and  Booth  had  been  enamored  of  her  "  poetry  of 
motion"  before  he  had  played  Worthy  to  her  Dorcas  Zeal.  He 
described  her,  with  all  due  ardor,  in  an  Ode  on  Mira,  dancing, — 
as  resembling  Venus  in  shape,  air,  mien,  and  eyes,  and  striking  a 
whole  theatre  with  love,  when  alone  she  filled  the  spacious  scene. 
Thus  was  Miss  Santlow  in  the  popular  Cato's  eyes  : 

"  Whether  her  easy  body  bend, 

Or  her  fair  bosom  heave  with  sighs ; 
Whether  her  graceful  arras  extend, 

Or  gently  fall,  or  slowly  rise, 
Or  returning,  or  advancing ; 
Swimming  round,- or  side-long  glancing; 
Gods,  how  divine  an  air 
Harmonious  gesture  gives  the  fair  I" 

Her  grace  of  motion  effected  more  than  eloquence,  at  least  so 


BARTON    LOOTH.  273 

Booth  thought,  who  thus  sang  the  nymph  in  her  more  accelerated 
gteps  to  conquest : — 

"  But  now  the  flying  fingers  strike  the  lyre, 

The  sprightly  notes  the  nymph  inspire. 

Slie  whirls  around  I  she  bounds  I  she  springs  1 

As  if  Jove's  messenger  had  lent  ber  wings. 
Such  Daplme  was  .... 
Such  were  her  lovely  limbs,  so  flushed  her  charming  face 

So  round  her  neck !  her  eyes  so  fair  I 
So  rose  her  swelling  chest !  so  flow'd  her  amber  hair  1 

While  her  swift  feet  outstript  the  wind, 
And  left  the  enamor'd  God  of  Day  behind." 

Now,  this  goddess  became  to  Booth  one  of  the  truest,  most 
charming,  and  most  unselfish  of  mortal  waves.  But  see  of  what 
perilous  stuff  she  was  made  who  enraptured  the  generally  unruffled 
poet  Thomson  almost  as  much  as  she  did  Barton  Booth.  For 
her  smiles,  Marlborough  had  given  what  he  least  cared  to  part 
■with — gold.  Craggs,  the  Secretary  of  State,  albeit  a  barber's  son, 
had  made  her  spouse,  in  all  but  name,  and  their  daughter  was 
mother  to  the  first  Lord  St.  Germains,  and,  by  a  second  marriage, 
of  the  first  Marquis  of  Abercorn.  The  Santlow  blood  thus  danced 
itself  into  very  excellent  company  ;  but  the  aristocracy  gave  good 
blood  to  the  stage,  as  well  as  took  gay  blood  from  it.  Contem- 
porary with  Booth  and  Mrs.  Santlow  were  the  sisters,  frolic  Mrs. 
Bicknell  and  Mrs.  Younger.  They  were  nearly  related  to  Keith, 
Earl  Marshal  of  Scotland.  Their  father  had  served  in  Flanders 
under  King  William,  "  perhaps,"  says  Mr.  Carruthers,  in  his  Life 
of  Pope,  "rode  by  the  side  of  Steele,  whence  Steele's  interest  in 
Mrs.  Bicknell,  whom  he  praises  in  the  Tatler  and  Spectator^ 
Mrs.  Younger,  in  middle  age,  married  John,  brother  of  the  seventh 
Earl  of  Winchelsea. 

When  Miss  Santlow  left  the  ballet  for  comedy,  it  was  accounted 
one  of  the  lucky  incidents  in  the  fortune  of  Drury.  Dorcas  Zeal, 
in  the  "  Fair  Quaker  of  Deal,"  was  the  first  original  part  in  which 
Miss  Santlow  appeared.  Cibber  says,  somewhat  equivocally,  "  that 
she  was  then  in  the  full  bloom  of  what  beauty  she  might  pretend 
to,"  and  he,  not  very  logically,  adds,  that  her  reception  as  an 
actress  was,  perhaps,  owing  to  the  admiration  she  had  excited  as 
12* 


274  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

a  dancer.  The  part  was  suited  to  lier  figure  and  capacity.  "  The 
gentle  softness  of  her  voice,  the  composed  innocence  of  her  aspect, 
the  modesty  of  her  dress,  the  reserved  decency  of  her  gesture,  and 
the  simplicity  of  the  sentiments  that  naturally  fell  from  her,  made 
her  seem  the  amiable  maid  she  represented." 

Many  admirers,  however,  regretted  that  she  had  abandoned  the 
ballet  for  the  drama.  They  mourned  as  if  Terpsichore  herself 
had  been  on  earth  to  charm  mankind,  and  had  gone  never  to 
return.  They  remembered,  longed  for,  and  now  longed  in  vain 
for,  that  sight  which  used  to  set  a  whole  audience  half  distraught 
with  delight,  when  in  the  very  ecstasy  of  her  dance,  Santlow  con- 
trived to  loosen  her  clustering  auburn  hair,  and  letting  it  fall 
about  such  a  neck  and  shoulders  as  Praxiteles  could  more  readily 
imagine  than  imitate,  danced  on,  the  locks  flying  in  the  air,  and 
half  a  dozen  hearts  at  the  end  of  every  one  of  them. 

The  union  of  Booth  and  Miss  Santlow  was  as  productive  of 
happiness  as  that  of  Betterton  and  Miss  Saunderson.  Indeed, 
with  some  few  exceptions,  the  man-iages  of  English  players  have 
been  generally  so.  As  much,  perhaps,  can  hardly  be  said  of  the 
alliances  of  French  actors.  Moliere  had  but  a  miserable  time  of 
it  with  Mademoiselle  Bejart ;  but  he  revenged  himself  by  pro- 
ducing domestic  incidents  of  a  stormy  and  aggravating  nature,  on 
the  stage.  The  status  of  the  French  players  was  even  lower,  in 
one  respect,  than  that  of  their  English  brethren.  The  French 
ecclesiastical  law  did  not  allow  of  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage 
amongst  actors.  They  were  excommunicated,  by  the  mere  fact 
that  they  were  stage-players.  The  Church  refused  them  the 
Sacrament  of  Marriage,  and  a  loving  couple  who  desired  to  be 
honestly  wed,  were  driven  into  lying.  It  was  their  habit  to  retire 
from  their  profession,  get  married  as  individuals  who  had  no  vo- 
cation, and  the  honeymoon  over,  to  return  again  to  the  stage  and  their 
impatient  public.  The  Church  was  aware  of  the  subterfuge,  and 
did  its  utmost  to  establish  the  concubinage  of  parties  thus  united ; 
but  civil  law  and  royal  influence  invariably  declared  that  these 
marriages  were  valid,  seeing  that  the  contracting  parties  were  not 
excommunicated  actors  when  the  ceremony  was  performed,  what- 
ever they  may  have  been  a  month  before,  or  a  month  after. 

No  such  difficulties  as  these  had  to  be  encountered  by  Booth 


BARTON   BOOTH.  •  275 

aad  Miss  Santlow  ;  and  the  former  lost  no  opportunity  to  render 
justice  to  the  excellence  of  his  wife.  This  actor's  leisure  was  a 
learned  leisure.  Once,  in  his  poetic  vein,  when  turning  an  ode  of 
his  favorite  Horace  into  English,  he  went  into  an  original  digres- 
sion on  the  becomingness  of  a  married  life,  and  the  peculiar  feli- 
city it  had  brought  to  himself.  Thus  sang  the  Benedict  when  the 
union  was  a  few  brief  years  old  : 

"Happy  the  hour  when  first  our  souls  were  joined  I 

The  social  virtues  and  the  cheerful  mind 

Have  ever  crowned  our  days,  be^fuiled  our  pain; 
■  Strangers  to  discord  and  her  clamorous  train. 

Connubial  friendship,  hail!  but  haste  away, 

The  lark  and  nightingale  reproach  thy  stay; 

From  splendid  theatres  to  rural  scenes, 

Joyous  retire  !  so  bounteous  Heav'n  ordaina. 

There  we  may  dwell  in  peace. 

There  bless  the  rising  morn,  and  flow'ry  field, 

Charm'd  with  the  guiltless  sports  the  woods  and  waters  yield." 

But  neither  the  married  nor  the  professional  life  of  Booth  was 
destined  to  be  of  long  continuance.  His  health  began  to  give 
way  before  he  was  forty.  The  managers  hoped  they  had  found  a 
fair  substitute  for  him  in  the  actor  Elrington.  Tom  Elrington  sub- 
sequently became  so  great  a  favorite  with  the  Dublin  audience 
that  they  remembered  his  Bajazet  as  preferable  to  that  of  Barry 
or  Mossop,  on  the  ground  that  in  that  character  his  voice  could  be 
heard  beyond  the  Blind  Quay,  whereas  that  of  the  other  named 
actors  was  not  audible  outside  the  house  !  Elrington  had  none  of 
the  scholar-like  training  of  Booth.  He  was  originally  apprentice 
to  an  upholsterer  in  Covent  Garden,  was  wont  to  attend  plays  un- 
known to  his  master,  and  to  act  in  them  privately,  and  with  equal 
lack  of  sanction.  His  master  was  a  vivacious  Frenchman,  who, 
one  day,  came  upon  him  as,  under  the  instruction  of  Chetwood, 
he  was  studying  a  part  in  some  stilted  and  ranting  tragedy.  The 
stage-struck  apprentice,  in  his  agitation,  sewed  his  book  up  inside 
the  cushion,  on  which  he  was  at  Avork,  "  while  he  and  Chetwood 
exchanged  many  a  desponding  look,  and  every  stitch  went  to  both 
their  heart^j."  The  oftenders  escaped  detection  ;  but  on  another 
oo.casion  the   Frenchman   came  upon   his  apprentice    as  he  was 


276  DOR.'y^'S   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

enacting  the  Ghost  in  "Hamlet,"  when  he  laid  the  spirit  with 
irresistible  effect  of  his  good  right  arm.  Elrington  was,  from 
the  beginning,  a  sort  of  "  copper  Booth."  His  first  appearance  on 
the  stage,  at  Drury  Lane,  in  1709,  was  in  Oronooko,  the  character 
in  which  Booth  had  made  his  coup  d^essai  in  Dublin.  He  was 
ambitious,  too,  and  had  influential  support.  When  Gibber  re- 
fused to  allow  him  to  play  Torrismond,  while  Elrington  waa  yet 
young,  a  noble  friend  of  the  actor  asked  the  manager  to  assign 
cause  for  the  refusal.  Golley  was  not  at  a  loss.  "  It  is  not  with 
us  as  with  you,  my  Lord,"  said  he ;  "  your  Lordship  is  sensible 
that  there  is  no  difficulty  in  filling  places  at  court,  you  cannot  be 
at  a  loss  for  persons  to  act  their  parts  there  ;  but  I  assure  you,  it 
is  quite  otherwise  in  our  theatrical  world.  If  we  should  invest 
people  with  characters  they  should  be  unable  to  support,  we 
should  be  undone." 

Elrington,  after  a  few  years  of  success  in  Dublin,  boldly  at- 
tempted to  take  rank  in  London  with  Booth  himself  He  began 
the  attempt  in  his  favorite  part  of  Bajazet,  Bootli  playing  Tamer- 
lane. The  latter,  we  are  told  by  Victor,  "  being  in  full  force,  and 
perliaps  animated  by  a  spirit  of  emulation  towards  the  new  Baja- 
zet, exerted  all  his  powers ;  and  Elrington  owned  to  his  friends, 
that  never  having  felt  the  force  of  such  an  actor,  be  was  not 
aware  that  it  was  in  the  power  of  mortal  to  soar  so  much  above 
him  and  shrink  him  into  nothing."  Booth  was  quite  satisfied 
with  his  own  success,  for  he  complimented  Elrington  on  his,  add- 
ing, that  his  Bajazet  was  ten  times  as  good  as  that  of  Mills,  who 
had  pretensions  to  play  the  character.  The  compliment  was  not 
ill-deserved ;  for  Elrington  possessed  many  of  the  natural  and 
some  of  the  acquired  qualifications  of  Booth,  whom  perhaps  he 
ctjualled  in  Oronooko.  He  undoubtedly  excelled  Mills  in  Zanga, 
nf  which  the  latter  was  the  original  repi'csentative.  After  Dr. 
'N'oung  had  seen  Elrington  play  it,  he  went  round,  shook  hira  cor- 
dially by  the  hand,  thanked  him  heartily,  and  declared  he  had 
never  seen  the  part  done  such  justice  to,  as  by  hira  : — "  acknowl- 
edging, with  some  regret,"  says  Dr.  Lewis,  "  that  Mills  did  but 
growl  and  mouth  the  character."  Such  was  the  actor  who  be- 
came for  a  time  Booth's  "  double,"  and  might  have  become  his 
rivfU.     During  the  illness  of  the  latter,  in  1728-9,  Elrington,  we 


BARTON   BOOTH.  277 

are  told,  was  the  principal  support  of  ti'agedy  in  Drury  Lane.  At 
that  tune,  says  Davios,  "  the  managers  were  so  well-convinced  of 
their  importance  to  them,  that  they  oft'ered  him  his  own  condi- 
tions, if  he  would  engage  with  them  for  a  term  of  years."  Elring- 
ton  replied, — "  I  am  truly  sensible  of  the  value  of  your  offer,  but 
in  Ireland  I  am  so  well  rewarded  for  my  services,  that  I  cannot 
think  of  leaving  it,  on  any  consideration.  There  is  not  a  gentle- 
man's house  to  which  I  am  not  a  welcome  visitor." 

Booth  has  been  called  indolent,  but  he  never  was  so  when  in 
health,  and  before  a  fitting  audience.  On  one  thin  night,  indeed, 
he  was  enacting  Othello  rather  languidly  ;  but  he  suddenly  began 
to  exert  himself  to  the  utmost,  in  the  great  scene  of  the  third  act. 
On  coming  otF  the  stage,  he  was  asked  the  cause  of  this  sudden 
eflfort.  "  I  saw  an  Oxford  man  in  the  pit,"  he  answered,  "  for 
whose  judgment  I  had  more  respect  than  for  that  of  the  rest  of 
the  audience ;"  and  he  played  the  Moor  to  that  one,  but  efficient, 
judge.  Some  causes  of  languor,  may,  perhaps,  be  traced  to  the 
too  warm  patronage  he  received,  or  rather  friendship,  at  the  hands 
of  the  nobility.  It  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  a  "  carriage  and 
six"  to  be  in  waiting  for  him — the  equipage  of  some  court  friend 
— which  conveyed  him,  in  what  was  then  considered,  the  brief 
period  of  three  hours,  to  Windsor,  and  back  again  the  next  da) , 
in  time  for  play  or  rehearsal.  This  agitated  sort  of  life  seriously 
affected  his  health ;  and,  on  one  occasion  his  recovery  was  de- 
spaired of.  But  the  public  favorite  was  restored  to  the  town ;  and 
learned  Mattaire  celebrated  the  event  in  a  Latin  ode,  in  which  he 
did  honor  to  the  memory  of  Betterton,  and  the  living  and  invigo- 
rated genius  of  Booth.  That  genius  was  not  so  perfect  as  that  of 
his  great  predecessor.  When  able  to  go  to  the  theatre,  though 
not  yet  able  to  perform,  he  saw  Wilks  play  two  of  his  parts, — 
J  affier  and  Hastings, — and  heard  the  applause  which  was  awarded 
to  his  efforts ;  and  the  sound  was  ungrateful  to  the  ears  of  the 
philosophical  and  unimpassioned  Cato.  But  Jaffier  was  one  of 
his  triumphs ;  and  he  whose  tenderness,  pity,  and  terror,  had 
touched  the  hearts  of  the  whole  audience,  was  painfully  affected 
at  the  triumph  of  another,  though  achieved  by  different  means. 

One  of  the  secrets  of  his  own  success  lay,  undoubtedly,  in  his 
education,  feeling,  and  judgment.     It  may  be  readily  seen,  from 


278  doran's  axnals  of  the  stage. 

Aaron  Hill's  rather  elaborate  criticism,  that  he  was  an  actor  who 
made  "  points  ;"  ''  he  could  soften  and  slide  over,  with  an  elegant 
negligence,  the  improprieties  of  the  part  he  acted ;  while,  on  the 
contrary,  he  could  dwell  with  energ}'  upon  the  beauties,  as  if  he 
exerted  a  latent  spirit,  which  he  kept  back  for  such  an  occanion, 
that  h(  might  alarm,  awaken,  and  transport,  in  those  places  only 
which  wore  worthy  of  his  best  exertions."  This  was  really  to  de- 
pond  on  "  points  ;"  and  was,  perhaps,  a  defect  in  a  player  of  whom 
it  has  been  said,  that  he  had  learning  to  understand  perfectly  what 
it  was  his  part  to  speak,  and  judgment  to  know  how  it  agreed  or 
disagreed  with  his  character."  The  following,  by  Hill,  is  as 
graphic  as  any  thing  in  Gibber : — "  Booth  had  a  talent  at  dis- 
covering the  passions,  where  they  lay  hid  in  some  celebrated 
parts,  by  the  injudicious  practice  of  other  actors ;  when  he  had 
discovered,  he  soon  grew  able  to  express  them ;  and  his  secret  of 
attaining  this  great  lesson  of  the  theatre,  was  an  adaptation  of  his 
look  to  his  voice,  by  which  artful  imitation  of  nature,  the  variations 
in  the  sound  of  his  words  gave  propriety  to  every  change  in  his 
countenance.  So  that  it  was  Mr.  Booth's  peculiar  felicity  to  be 
heard  and  seen  the  same ;  whether  as  the  pleased,  the  grieved, 
the  pitying,  the  reproachful,  or  the  angr)\  One  would  be  almost 
tempted  to  borrow  the  aid  of  a  very  bold  figure,  and  to  express 
this  excellency  the  more  significantly,  by  permission  to  afiirm 
that  the  Blind  might  have  seen  him  in  his  voice,  and  the  Deaf  have 
heard  him  in  his  visage." 

In  his  later  years,  says  a  critic,  "  his  merit  as  an  actor  was  unri- 
valled, and  even  so  extraordinary,  as  to  be  almost  beyond  the  reach 
of  envy."  His  Othello,  Cato,  and  his  Polydore,  in  the  "  Orphan," 
in  which  he  was  never  equalled,  were  long  the  theme  of  admiration 
to  his  survivors,  as  were  in  a  less  degree,  his  sorrowing  and  not 
roaring  Lear,  his  manly  yet  not  blustering  Hotspur.  Dickey 
Brass  and  Dorimant,  Wildair  and  Sir  Charles  Easy,  Pinchwife, 
Mauley,  and  Young  Bevil,  were  among  the  best  of  his  essays  in 
comedy, — where,  however,  he  was  surpassed  by  Wilks.  "  But 
then,  I  believe,"  says  a  critic,  "  no  one  will  say  he  did  not  appear 
the  fine  gentleman  in  the  character  of  Bevil,  in  the  '  Conscious 
Lovers.'  It  is  said  that  he  once  played  Falstaff  in  the  presence  of 
Queen  Anne,  '  to  the  delight  of  the  whole  audience.' " 


BARTON   BOOTH.  279 

Aaron  Hill,  curiously  statistical,  states,  that  by  the  peculiar  de- 
livery of  certain  sentiments  in  Cato,  Booth  was  always  sure  of  ob- 
taining from  eighteen  to  twenty  rounds  of  applause  during  the 
evening, — marks  of  approval,  both  of  matter  and  manner.  Like 
Betterton,  he  abounded  in  feeling.  There  was  nothing  of  the 
stolidity  of  "  Punch"  in  either  of  them.  Betterton  is  said  to  have 
sometimes  turned  as  "  white  as  his  neck-cloth,"  on  seeing  his 
father's  ghost ;  while  Booth,  when  playing  the  Ghost  to  Better- 
ton's  Hamlet,  was  once  so  horror-stricken  at  his  distraught  aspect, 
as  to  be  too  disconcerted  to  proceed,  for  a  while,  in  his  part.  Either 
actor,  however,  knew  how  far  to  safely  yield  themselves  to  feeling. 
Judgment  was  always  within  call ;  the  head  ready  to  control  the 
heart,  however  wildly  it  might  be  impelled  by  the  latter.  Baron, 
the  French  actor,  did  not  know  better  than  they,  that  while  rules 
may  teach  the  actor  not  to  raise  his  arms  above  his  head,  he 
will  do  well  to  break  the  rule,  if  passion  carry  him  that  way. 
"  Passion,"  as  Baron  remarked,  "  knows  more  than  art." 

I  have  noticed  the  report  that  Booth  and  Wilks  were  jealous  of 
each  other ;  I  think  there  was  more  of  emulation  than  of  envy 
between  them.  Booth  could  make  sacrifices  in  favor  of  young 
actors  as  unreservedly  as  Betterton.  I  find,  even  when  he  was  in 
possession,  as  it  was  called,  of  all  the  leading  parts,  that  he  as 
often  played  Laertes,  or  even  Horatio,  as  the  Ghost  or  Hamlet. 
His  Laertes  was  wonderfully  fine,  and  in  a  great  actor's  hands, 
may  be  made,  in  the  fifth  act,  at  least,  equal  with  the  princely 
Dane  himself.  Again,  although  his  Othello  was  one  of  his  grand- 
est impersonations,  he  would  take  Cassio,  in  order  to  give  an 
aspirant  a  chance  of  triumph  in  the  Moor.  In  "  Macbeth,"  Booth 
played,  one  night,  the  hero  of  the  piece ;  on  another,  Banquo ; 
and  on  a  third,  the  little  part  of  Lennox.  He  was  quite  content 
that  Gibber  should  play  Wolsey,  while  he  captivated  the  audience 
by  enacting  the  King.  His  Henry  was  a  mixture  of  frank 
humor,  dignity,  and  sternness.  Theophilus  Gibber  says  enough 
to  convince  us  that  Booth,  in  the  King,  could  be  familiar 
without  being  vulgar,  and  that  his  anger  was  of  the  quality  that 
excites  terroi*.  He  pronounced  the  four  words,  "  Go  thy  ways, 
Kate,"  with  such  a  happy  emphasis  as  to  win  admiration  and  ap- 
plause ;  and  "  when  he  said,  '  Now,  to  breakfast  with  what  appetite 


280  DORA.N's   AN]SALg   OF   THE   STAGE. 

you  may,'  his  expression    was  rapid  and  vehement,  and  his  Ioor 
tremendous." 

The  credit  attached  to  the  acting  of  inferior  parts  by  leading 
players  was  shared  with  Booth  by  Wilks  and  Gibber.  Of  the 
latter,  his  son  says,  that  "  though  justly  esteemed  the  first  come- 
dian of  his  time,  and  superior  to  all  we  have  since  beheld,  he  has 
phiyed  several  parts,  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  some  comedies, 
which  you  will  now  scarcely  find  one  player  in  twenty  who  will 
not  reject  as  beneath  his  Mock-Excellence." 

Booth  could,  after  all,  perhaps,  occasionally  be  languid  without 
the  excuse  of  illness.  He  would  play  his  best  to  a  single  man  in 
the  pit  whom  he  recognized  as  a  playgoer,  and  a  judge  of  acting; 
but  to  an  unappreciating  audience  he  could  exhibit  an  almost  con- 
temptuous disinclination  to  exert  himself.  On  one  occasion  of 
this  sort  he  was  made  painfully  sensible  of  his  mistake,  and  a  note 
was  addressed  to  him  from  the  stage-box,  the  purport  of  which  was 
to  know  whether  he  was  acting  for  his  own  diversion  or  in  the  ser- 
vice and  for  the  entertainment  of  the  public  ? 

On  another  occasion,  with  a  thin  house,  and  a  cold  audience,  he 
was  languidly  going  through  one  of  his  usually  grandest  impersona- 
tions, namely,  Pyrrhus.  At  his  very  dullest  scene  he  started  into 
the  utmost  brilliancy  and  effectiveness.  His  eye  had  just  prenous- 
ly  detected  in  the  pit  a  gentleman,  named  Stanyan,  the  friend  of 
Addison  and  Steele,  and  the  correspondent  of  the  Earl  of  Manches- 
ter. Stanyan  was  an  accomplished  man  and  a  judicious  critic. 
Booth  played  to  him,  with  the  utmost  care  and  corresponding  suc- 
cess. "  No  no  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  passed  behind  the  scenes, 
radiant  with  the  effect  he  had  produced,  "I  will  not  have  it  said 
at  Button's,  that  Barton  Booth  is  losing  his  powers ! " 

Some  indolence  was  excusable,  however,  in  actors  who  or- 
dinarily labored  as  Booth  did.  As  an  instance  of  the  toil  which 
they  had  to  endure  for  the  sake  of  applause,  I  will  notice  that  in 
the  season  of  1V12-13,  when  Booth  studied,  played,  and  triumphec^ 
in  Cato,  he  within  not  many  weeks  studied  and  performed  five  ori 
ginal  and  very  varied  characters,  Cato  being  the  last  of  a  roll,  which 
included  Arviragus,  in  the  "Successful  Pirate;"  Captain  Stanworth 
in  the  Female  Advocates  ;"  Captain  Wildish,  in  "Humors  of  the  Ar 
my;"  Cinna,  in  an  adaptation  of  Corneille's  play  ;  and  finally,  Cato 


BARTON   BOOTH.  281 

No  doubt  Booth  was  finest  when  put  upon  his  mottle.  In  May, 
1726,  for  instance,  Gitfard  from  Dublin  appeared  at  Drury  Lane, 
as  the  Prince  of  Wales,  in  "  Henry  I\\"  The  debutant  was  known 
to  be  an  admirer  of  the  Hotspur  of  roaring  Elrington.  The  Perc-y 
was  one  of  Booth's  most  perfect  exhibitions  ;  and  ill  as  he  was  on 
the  night  he  was  to  play  it  to  Giftard's  Harry,  he  protested  that 
he  would  surprise  the  new  comer,  and  the  house  too  ;  and  he  played 
with  such  grace,  fire,  and  energy,  that  the  audience  were  beside 
themselves  with  ecstasy,  and  the  new  actor  was  profuse  at  the  side- 
scenes,  and  even  out  of  hearing  of  Booth,  in  acknowledgment  of 
the  great  master  and  his  superiority  over  every  living  competitor. 

Betterton  cared  little  if  his  audience  was  select,  provided  it 
also  was  judicious ;  Booth,  however,  loved  a  full  house,  though 
he  could  play  his  best  to  a  solitary,  but  competent,  individual  in 
the  pit  He  confessed  that  he  considered  profit  after  fame,  and 
thought  that  large  audiences  tended  to  the  increase  of  both.  The 
intercourse  between  audience  and  actor  was,  in  his  time,  more  in- 
timate and  familiar  than  it  is  now.  Thus  we  see  Booth  entering 
a  coffee-house  in  Bow  Street,  one  morning  after  he  had  played 
Varanes,  on  the  preceding  night.  The  gentlemen  present,  all  play- 
goers as  naturally  as  they  were  coffee-house  frequentei's,  cluster 
round  him  and  acknowledge  the  pleasure  they  had  enjoyed  in 
witnessing  him  act.  These  pleasant  morning  critics  only  venture 
to  blame  him  for  allowing  such  unmeaning  stuff  as  the  pantomime 
of  "  Perseus  and  Andromeda"  to  follow  the  classical  tragedy  and 
mar  its  impression.  But  the  ballet-pantomime  draws  great  houses, 
and  is  therefore  a  less  indignity  in  Booth'  s  eye  than  half  empty 
benches.  Tt  was  not  the  business  of  managers,  he  said,  to  be  wise 
to  empty  boxes.  "There  were  many  more  spectators,"  he  said, 
"than  men  of  taste  and  judgment ;  and  if  by  the  artifice  of  a  panto- 
mime they  could  entice  a  greater  number  to  partake  of  a  good  play 
than  could  be  drawn  without  it,  he  could  not  see  any  great  harm 
in  it ;  and  that,  as  those  pieces  were  performed  after  the  play,  they 
were  no  interruption  to  it."  In  short,  he  held  pantomimes  to  be 
rank  nonsense,  which  might  be  rendered  useful,  after  the  fashion  of 
his  explanation. 

His  retirement  from  the  stage  may  be  laid  to  the  importunity 
of  Mr.  Theobald,  who  urged  him  to  act  in  a  play,  for  a  moment 


282  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

attributed  to  Shakspeare,  "  the  Double  Falsehood."  Booth  stmg- 
gled  through  the  part  of  Julio,  for  a  week,  in  the  season  of  1727-8, 
and  then  withdrew,  utterly  cast  down,  and  in  his  forty-sixth  year. 
Broxham,  Friend,  Colebatch,  and  Mead,  came  with  their  canes, 
perukes,  pills,  and  proposals,  and  failing  to  restore  him,  they  sent 
him  away  from  London.  The  sick  player  and  his  wife  wandered 
from  town  to  Bath,  from  the  unavailing  springs  there  to 
Ostend,  thence  to  Antwerp,  and  on  to  Holland,  to  consult  Boer- 
haave,  who  could  only  tell  the  invalid  that  in  England  a  man 
should  never  leave  off  his  winter  clothing  till  midsummer-day, 
and  that  he  should  resume  it  the  day  after.  From  Holland 
the  sad  couple  came  home  to  Hampstead,  and  ultimately  back 
to  London,  where  fever,  jaundice,  and  other  maladies  attacked 
Booth  with  intermitting  severity.  Here,  in  May,  1733,  a  quack 
doctor  persuaded  him  that  if  he  would  take  "  crude  mercury" 
it  would  not  only  prevent  the  return  of  his  fever,  but  effectually 
cure  him  of  all  his  complaints.  As  we  are  gravely  informed 
that  within  five  days  the  poor  victim  "  took  within  two  ounces  of 
two  pounds'  weight  of  mercury,"  we  are  not  surprised  to  hear 
that  at  the  end  of  that  time  Booth  was  in  extremis,  and  that  Sir 
Hans  Sloan  e  was  at  his  bedside  to  accelerate,  as  it  would  seem, 
the  catastrophe. 

To  peruse  what  followed  is  like  I'eading  the  details  of  an  assassi- 
nation. As  if  the  two  pounds,  minus  two  ounces,  of  mercury  were 
not  enough,  poor  Booth  was  bled  profusely  at  the  jugular,  his 
feet  were  plastered,  and  his  scalp  was  blistered ;  he  was  assailed  in 
various  ways  by  cathartics,  and  mocked,  I  may  so  call  it,  by  emul- 
sions ;  the  Daili/  Post  announced  that  he  lay  a-dying  at  his  house 
in  Hart  Street :  other  notices  pronounced  him  moribund  in 
Charles  Street;  but  he  was  alive  on  the  morning  of  the  10th  of 
May,  1733,  when  a  triad  of  prescriptions  being  applied  against 
him,  Cato  at  length  happily  succumbed.  But  the  surgeons  would 
not  let  the  dead  actor  rest ;  they  opened  his  body,  and  dived  into 
its  recesses,  and  called  things  by  strong  names,  and  avoided  tech- 
nicalities ;  and  after  declaring  every  thing  to  be  very  much  worse 
than  the  state  of  Denmark,  as  briefly  described  by  Hamlet,  Alex- 
ander Small,  the  especial  examiner,  signing  the  report,  added  a 
postscript  thereto,  implying  that  "  There  was  no  fault  in  any  part 


BARTON   BOOTH.  283 

of  his  body,  but  what  is  here  mentioned."  Poor  fellow  !  We 
are  toid  that  he  recovered  from  his  fever,  but  that  he  died  of  the 
jaundice,  helped,  I  think,  by  the  treatment. 

A  few  days  subsequently  the  body  was  privately  interred  in 
Cowley  Curch,  near  Uxbridge,  where  lie  occasionally  resided.  A 
few  old  friends,  and  some  dearer  than  friends,  accompanied  him  to 
the  grave.  His  will  was  as  a  kiss  on  either  cheek  of  his  beautiful 
widow,  and  a  slap  on  both  cheeks  of  sundry  of  his  relations.  To 
the  former  he  left  every  thing  he  had  possessed,  and  for  the  veiy 
best  of  reasons.  "  As  I  have  been,"  he  says,  "  a  man  much  known 
and  talked  of,  my  not  leaving  legacies  to  my  relations  may  give 
occasion  to  censorious  people  to  reflect  upon  my  conduct  in  this 
latter  act  of  my  life  ;  therefore,  I  think  it  necessary  to  declare  that 
I  have  considered  my  circumstances,  and  finding,  upon  a  strict 
examination,  that  all  I  am  now  possessed  of  does  not  amount  to 
two-thirds  of  the  fortune  my  wife  brought  me  on  the  day  of  our 
marriage,  together  with  the  yearly  additions  and  advantages  since 
arising  from  her  laborious  employment  on  the  stage  during  twelve 
years  past,  I  thought  myself  bound  by  honesty,  honor  and  gratitude 
due  to  her  constant  affection,  not  to  give  away  any  part  of  the  re- 
mainder of  her  fortune  at  my  death,  having  already  bestowed,  in  free 
gifts  upon  my  sister,  Barbara  Rogers,  upwards  of  thirteen  hundred 
"pounds,  out  of  my  loife' s  substance,  and  full  four  hundred  pounds  of 
her  money  on  my  undeserving  brother,  George  Booth  (besides  the 
gifts  they  received  before  my  marriage),  and  all  those  benefits  were 
conferred  on  my  said  brother  and  sister,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  ear- 
nest soUcitation  of  my  wife,  who  was  perpetually  entreating  me  to 
continue  the  allowance  I  gave  my  relations  before  my  marriage.  The 
mhuman  return  that  has  been  made  my  wife  for  these  obligations, 
by  my  sister,  I  forbear  to  mention."  This  was  justice  without  ven- 
geance, and  worthy  of  the  sage,  of  whom  Booth  was  the  most 
finished  representative.  The  generosity  of  Hester  Santlow,  too,  ■ 
has  been  fittingly  preserved  in  the  will ;  the  whole  of  which,  more- 
over, is  a  social  illustration  of  the  times. 

In  Westminster,  "Booth  Street"  keeps  up  the  actor's  name ;  and 
"  Cowley  Street"  the  remembrance  of  his  proprietorship  of  a  coun- 
try estate  near  Uxbridge.  To  pass  through  the  former  street  is 
like   being  transported  to   the  times  of   Queen  Anne.     It  is  a 


284  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

quaint  old  locality,  very  little  changed  since  the  period  in  which 
Barton  built  it.  No  gi-eat  stretch  of  imagination  is  required  to 
fancy  the  original  Pyrrhus  and  Cato  gliding  along  the  shady  side, 
with  a  smile  on  his  lips  and  a  certain  fire  in  his  eye.  He  is  think- 
ing of  Miss  Santlow  ! 


With  Booth  slowly  dying,  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  often  too  ill  to 
act,  the  prospects  of  Drury  began  to  wane  in  1728-9.  Elrington 
could  not  supply  the  place  of  the  former;  nor  Mrs.  Porter  and 
Mrs.  Horton  combined,  that  of  the  latter.  Gibber  carefully  instruct- 
ed his  son  Theophilus  in  the  part  of  Pistol,  which  became  his  one 
great  part,  and  the  appearance  of  Miss  Rafter  as  Doriiuhi,  in  Dry- 
den's  version  of  the  "  Tempest,"  on  the  2d  of  January,  1729,  marks 
the  first  step  in  the  bright  and  uncheckered  career  of  one  who  is 
better  remembered  as  Kitty  Clive,  of  whom,  more  hereafter.  She 
was  not  able  to  save  Gibber's  pastoral  comedy,  "  Love  in  a  Riddle," 
from  condemnation  by  an  audience  who  had  the  ill-manners,  as  it 
was  considered,  to  hiss,  despite  a  royal  presence  in  the  house. 

As  the  new  names  rose  the  old  ones  fell  off,  and  Gongreve  and 
Steele — the  first  rich  and  a  gentleman,  the  second  needy,  but  a 
gentleman  too — died  in  1729,  leaving  no  one  but  Gibber  fit  to 
compete  with  them  in  comedy.  Musical  pieces,  such  as  the 
"  Village  Opera"  and  the  "  Lovers'  Opera,"  born  of  Gay's  success, 
brought  no  such  golden  results  to  their  authors  or  the  house, 
which  was  still  happy  in  retaining  Wilks. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  the  Fields,  where  ballad-opera  had  been 
a  mine  of  wealth  to  astonished  managers,  classical  tragedy  took  the 
lead,  with  Quin  leading  in  every  thing,  and  growing  in  favor  with 
a  town  whose  applause  could  no  longer  be  claimed  by  Booth. 
But  classical  tragedy  reaped  no  golden  harvests.  Barford's 
"  Virgin  Queen"  lives  but  in  a  line  of  Pope  to  Arbuthnot.  The 
"  Themistocles"  (Quin)  of  young  Madden,  whom  Ireland  ought  to 
remember  as  one  of  her  benefactors  who  was  no  mere  politician, 
lived  but  for  a  few  nights.  Mrs.  Heywood  succeeded  as  ill  with 
her  romantic  tragedy,  "  Frederick,  Duke  of  Brunswick,"  which  Avas 
five  acts  of  flattery  to  the  House  of  Hanover,  some  of  whose  mem- 
bers yawned  over  it,  ungratefully.  But  the  "Beggars'  Opera" 
could  always  fill  the  house,  whether  Miss  Gantrell  warbled  Polly, 


BARTON   BOOTH.  285 

witn  the  old  cast,  or  children  played  all  the  parts — a  foolish 
novelty,  not  unattractive.  Hawker,  an  actor,  vainly  tried  to  rival 
Gay,  with  a  serio-comic  opera,  the  "  Wedding,"  and  Gay  himself 
was  doomed  to  suft'er  disappointment ;  for  the  authorities  sup- 
pressed his  "  Polly,"  a  vapid  continuation  of  the  fortunes  of  Mac- 
beath  and  the  lady,  and  thereby  drove  almost  to  the  disaffection 
of  which  he  was  accused,  not  only  Gay,  but  his  patrons,  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Queensberry,  who  punished  the  Court  by  absent- 
ing themselves  from  its  pleasures  and  duties.  The  poet,  who 
desired  nothing  but  the  joys  of  a  quiet  life,  a  good  table,  and  a 
suit  of  blue  and  silvei,  all  which  he  enjoyed  beneath  the  ducal 
roof,  happiest  of  mercer's  apprentices,  found  compensation  in  pub- 
lishing his  work  by  subscription,  whereby  he  realized  so  large  a 
sum  as  to  satisfy  his  utmoot  wishes. 

Drury  Lane  was  not  faitunate  in  any  of  its  new  pieces  in  the 
season  of  1729-30.  It  was,  perhaps,  unfortunate  that  Mrs.  Old- 
field,  by  her  recommendation,  and  by  her  acting,  obtained  even 
partial  success  for  a  comedy,  by  the  Rev.  James  Millar,  the 
"  Humors  of  Oxford."  I'liis  satirical  piece  brought  the  author 
into  trouble  with  his  University,  at  some  of  whose  members  it 
was  aimed,  and  it  did  not  tend  to  raise  him  in  the  estimation  of 
his  congregation  in  Conduit  Street. 

The  tragedy  of  "Timoleon"  was  ruined  by  the  zeal  of  the 
Author's  friends,  who  crowded  the  house,  and  as  loudly  applauded 
the  candle-snuffers  and  furniture  as  they  did  Mills  or  Mrs.  Porter. 
Martyu,  the  author,  had  been  a  linen-draper,  but  his  epitaph  in 
Lewisham  Churchyard  describes  him  as  "  one  of  the  best  bred 
men  in  England."  He  was  certainly  well  connected,  but  he  ex- 
liibited  more  efficiency  in  colonizing  Georgia  than  in  writing 
poetry.     His  "  Timoleon"  had  neither  beauty  of  style,  nor  incident. 

This  season,  too,  saw  the  first  dramatic  attempt  of  Thomson. 
in  "  Sophonisba."  Lee's  tragedy  of  that  name  used  to  drown  the 
female  part  of  the  house  in  tears ;  but  Thomson's  could  not  stir 
even  his  own  friends  to  enthusiasm.  They  rose  from  the  full-dress 
rehearsals  to  wdiich  they  were  invited,  dulled  in  sense  rather  than 
touched  or  elevated.  Thomson's  play  is  far  less  tender  than  Lee's  ; 
his  Sophonisba  (the  last  character  originally  played  by  Mrs.  Old- 
field)  mo:  e  stern  and  patriotic,  and  less  loving.     The  author  himself 


286  doran's  annals  of  the  staoe. 

described  her  as  a  "  female  Cato,"  and  in  the  Epilogue  not  too 
delicately  indicated  that  if  the  audience  would  only  applaud  a 
native  poet, 

"  Then  other  Shakspoares  yet  may  rouse  the  stage, 
And  other  Otways  melt  another  age." 

"  Sophonisba,"  which  Thomson  was  not  afi-aid  to  set  above 
the  heroine  of  Corneille,  abounds  in  platitudes,  and  it  was  fatal  to 
Gibber,  who,  never  tolerable  in  tragedy,  was  fairly  hissed  out  of 
the  character  of  Scipio,  which  he  surrendered  to  a  promising 
player,  Williams.  The  latter  was  violently  hissed  also  on  the  fii"st 
night  of  his  acting  Scipio,  he  bore  so  close  a  resemblance  to  his 
predecessor.  Mrs.  Oldfield,  alone,  made  a  sensation,  especially  in 
the  delivery  of  the  line, 

"Not  one  base  word  of  Carthage — on  thy  soul  1" 

Her  grandeur  of  action,  her  stern  expression,  and  her  powerful 
tone  of  voice,  elicited  the  most  enthusiastic  applause.  Exactly 
two  months  later,  on  the  28th  of  April,  IVSO,  she  acted  Lady 
Brute,  and  therewith  suddenly  terminated  her  thirty  years  of 
service,  dying  exactly  six  months  after  illness  compelled  her  to 
withdraw. 

Before  noticing  more  fully  the  career  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  let  me 
record  here,  that  on  the  night  she  played  Lady  Brute  in  the 
"  Provoked  Wife,"  the  part  of  Mademoiselle  was  acted  by  Char- 
lotte Charke,  the  wife  of  a  good  singer,  but  a  worthless  man,  and 
the  youngest  child  of  CoUey  Gibber.  There  seems  to  have  been 
a  touch  of  insanity,  certainly  there  was  no  power  of  self-control, 
in  this  poor  woman.  From  her  childhood  she  had  been  wild, 
wayward  and  rebellious  ;  self-taught  as  a  boy  might  be,  and  with 
nothing  feminine  in  her  character  or  pursuits.  With  self-asser- 
tion too,  she  was  weak  enough  to  be  won  by  a  knave  with  a  sweet 
voice,  whose  cruel  treatment  drove  his  intractable  wife  to  the 
stage,  where  she  failed  to  profit  by  her  fine  opportunities. 

The  corresponding  season  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  was  the  usual 
one  of  an  unfashionable  house :  but  Quin,  Ryan,  Walker,  and 
Boherac,  were  actors  who  made  way  against  Wilks,  Gibber,  Mills, 


BARTON   BOOTH  287 

and  Bridgewater.  No  new  piece  of  any  value  was  produced  ;  the 
only  incidents  worth  recording  being  the  playing  of  Macheath  by 
Quin,  for  his  benefit ;  and  the  sudden  death  of  Spiller,  stricken  by 
apoplexy,  as  he  was  playing  in  the  "  Rape  of  Proserpine."  He 
was  inimitable  in  old  men,  though  he  himself  was  young ;  but 
whatever  he  played,  he  so  identified  himself  with  his  charactei, 
that  Spiller  disappeared  from  the  eyes  and  the  thoughts  of  an 
audience,  unconsciously  deluded  by  the  artist. 

As  the  town  grew,  so  also  did  theatres  increase ;  that  in  Good- 
man's Fields,  and  the  little  house  in  the  Haymarket,  were  open 
this  season.  At  the  former  Giffard  and  his  wife  led  in  tragedy 
and  comedy ;  but  the  company  was  generally  weak.  Not  so  the 
authors  who  wrote  for  the  house.  First  among  them  was  Field- 
ing, a  young  fellow  of  three  and  twenty ;  bred  to  the  law,  but 
driven  to  the  drama  by  the  inability  of  his  father,  the  General, 
to  supply  him  with  funds.  His  first  play,  "  Love  in  Several 
Masques,"  was  acted  at  Drury  Lane  in  1728;  liis  second,  and  a 
better,  the  "  Temple  Beau,"  was  played  at  Goodman's  Fields. 

Ralph,  who  had  been  a  sclioolmaster  in  Philadelphia,  and  came 
to  England  to  thrive  by  political,  satirical,  or  dramatic  writings, 
and  to  live  for  ever  in  the  abuse  lavished  on  him  by  Pope,  sup- 
plied a  ballad-opera,  the  "  Fashionable  Lady,"  which  was  intended 
to  rival  the  "  Beggars'  Opera."  To  Macheath — Walker  is  as- 
cribed a  tragedy,  the  "  Fate  of  Villany  ;"  and  Mottley,  the  disap- 
pointed candidate  for  place,  and  the  compiler  of  Joe  Miller^ s  Jests 
— Miller  being  a  better  joker  than  he  was  an  actor — wrote  for 
this  house  his  "  Widow  Bewitched,"  the  i*st  and  poorest  of  his 
contributions  to  the  stage. 

For  the  Haymarket,  Fielding  wrote  the  only  piece  which  has 
come  down  to  our  times,  his  immortal  burlesque-tragedy  of  "  Tom 
Thumb,"  in  which  the  weakness  and  bombast  of  late  or  contem- 
porary writers  are  copied  with  wonderful  etfect.  Young  sutfered 
severely  by  this;^and  the  "Oh,  Huncaniunca!  Huncamunca^ 
oh  !"  was  a  dart  at  the  "  Oh,  Sophonisba !  Sophonisba,  oh  !"  o^ 
Jamie  Thomson.  Of  the  other  pieces  I  need  not  disturb  the 
Just.  Let  me  rather,  contemplating  that  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  glance 
at  the  career  of  that  great  actress,  who  living  knew  no  rival,  and 
in  her  peculiar  line  has  never  been  excelled 


288  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER    XTX. 

MRS.    OLDFIELD. 

Artists  who  have  been  wont  to  look  into  the  Vicar  of  Wake' 
field,  Gil  Bias,  and  last  century  comedies,  for  picturesque  sub- 
jects, would  find  account  in  referring  to  the  lives  of  our  actresses. 
Here  is  not  a  bad  picture  of  its  class.  Tlie  time  is  at  the  close  of 
the  seventeenth  century ;  the  scene  is  at  the  Mitre  Tavern  in  St. 
James's  Market,  kept  by  one  Mrs.  Voss.  It  is  a  quiet  summer  eve- 
ning, and  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day  are  over,  and  before  the  later 
business  of  the  night  has  commenced,  that  buxom  lady  is  reclining 
in  an  easy  chair,  listening  to  a  fair  and  bright  young  creature,  her 
sister,  who  is  reading  aloud,  and  is  enjoying  what  she  reads.  Her 
eyes,  like  Kathleen's  in  the  song,  are  beaming  with  light,  her  face 
glowing  with  intelligence  and  feeling.  Even  an  elderly  lady,  their 
mother,  turns  away  from  the  picture  of  her  husband,  who  had 
ridden  in  the  Guards,  and  held  a  commission  under  James  II. — 
she  turns  from  this  and  memories  of  old  days,  to  gaze  with  tender 
admiration  on  her  brilliant  young  daughter ;  who,  be  it  said,  at 
this  present  reading,  is  only  an  apprentice  to  a  seamstress  in  King 
Street,  Westminster. 

But  the  soul  of  Thalia  is  under  her  bodice,  into  a  neater  than 
which,  Anadyomene  could  not  have  laced  herself.  She  is  rapt 
in  the  reading,  and  with  book  held  out,  and  face  upraised,  and  figure 
displayed  at  its  very  best,  she  enthrals  her  audience,  unconscious 
herself  that  this  is  more  numerous  than  she  might  have  supposed. 
On  the  threshold  of  the  open  door  stand  a  couple  of  guests ;  one 
of  them  has,  to  us,  no  name;  the  other  is  a  gay,  rollicking  young 
fellow,  smartly  dressed,  a  semi-military  look  about  him,  good  hu- 
mor rippling  over  his  face,  combined  with  an  air  of  astonishment 
and  delight.  This  is  Captain  Farquhar.  His  sight  and  hearing 
are  wholly  concentrated  on  that  enchanted  and  enchanting  girl^ 
*vho,  unmindful  of  aught  but  the  "  Scornful  Lady,"  continues  still 


MRS.    OLDFIELD.  289 

reading  aloud  that  rattling  comedy  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
How  the  mother  listened  to  it  all  is  not  to  be  told ;  but  nearly  a 
century  later,  Queen  Charlotte  could  listen  to  her  daughter's  read- 
ing "  Polly  Honeycombe,"  aud  no  harm  done.  We  may  fancy 
the  young  reader  at  the  Mitre,  whose  name  is  Anne  Oldfield,  in 
that  silvery  voice  for  which  she  was  famed,  half  in  sadness  and  half 
ill  mirth,  reading  the  lines  in  which  the  lady  says: — 

"All  we  that  are  call'd  woman,  know  as  well 
As  men,  it  were  a  far  more  noble  thing 
To  grace  where  wo  are  graced,  and  give  respect 
There  where  we  are  respected ;  yet  we  practise 
A  wilder  course,  and  never  bend  our  eyes 
On  men  with  pleasure,  till  they  find  the  way 
To  give  us  a  neglect.     Then  we  too  late 
Perceive  the  loss  of  what  we  might  have  had, 
And  dote  to  death." 

Captain  Farquhar,  at  whatever  passage  in  the  play,  betrayed 
his  presence  by  his  involuntary  applause.  The  girl  looked  toward 
him  more  pleased  than  abashed  ;  and  when  the  captain  pronounced 
that  there  was  in  her  stuff  for  an  exquisite  actress,  the  fluttered 
thing  clasped  her  hands,  glowed  at  the  prophecy,  and  protested 
in  her  turn,  that  of  all  conditions  it  was  the  one  she  wished  most 
ardently  to  fulfil.  From  that  moment  the  glory  and  the  mischief 
were  commenced.  The  tall  girl  stood  up,  her  large  eyes  dilating, 
the  assured  future  Lady  Betty  Modish  and  Biddy  Tipkin,  Farqu- 
har's  own  Sylvia  and  Mrs.  Sullen,  the  Yiolante  and  the  Lady 
Townley  that  were  to  set  the  play-going  world  mad  with  delight; 
the  Andromache,  Marcia,  and  Jane  Shore,  that  were  to  wring 
tears  from  them  ;  the  supreme  lady  in  all,  but  chiefest  in  comedy ; 
and  that  "  genteel,"  for  which  she  seemed  expressly  born. 

Farquhar  talked  of  her  to  Vanbrugh,  and  Vanbrugh  introduced 
her  to  Rich,  and  Rich  took  her  into  his  company,  assigned  her  a 
beginner's  salary,  fifteen  shillings  a  week,  and  gave  her  nothing  to 
do.  She  had  a  better  life  of  it  at  the  seamstress's  in  King  Street. 
But  she  had  time  to  spare  and  leisure  to  wait.  She  was  barely 
fifteen,  when,  in  1  TOO,  she  played  AUnda,  in  Vanbrugh's  adapta- 
tion from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  the  "  Pilgrim."  The  next  three 
or  four  years  were  those  of  probation ;  and  when,  in  the  season  of 
Vol.  L— 13. 


290  doran's  axxals  of  the  stage. 

1*704-5,  Gibber  assigned  to  her  the  paii  of  Lady  Betty  Modish,  in 
his  "  Careless  Husband,"  the  town  at  once  recognized  in  her  the 
most  finished  actress  of  such  difficult  yet  etiective  parts,  of  her  day. 

Tlie  gentle  Alinda  suited  the  years  and  inexperience  of  Mrs. 
Oldfield  ;  her  youth  was  in  her  favor,  and  her  figure,  but  therewith 
was  such  great  diffidence,  that  she  had  not  courage  enough  to 
modulate  her  voice.  Gibber  watched  her ;  he  could  see  nothing 
to  recommend  her,  save  her  graceful  person.  But  there  reached 
his  ear  occasional  silver  tones,  which  seemed  to  assure  him  of  the 
rare  excellence  of  the  instrument.  Still,  like  "the  great  Mrs. 
Barry,"  her  first  appearances  wei-e  failures ;  and  such  were  those 
of  Sarah  Siddons,  in  after  years.  Warmed  by  encouraging  ap- 
plause, however,  the  promise  ripened,  and  with  opportunity,  the 
perfection  that  came,  was  demonstrated  both  to  watchful  Gibber 
and  an  expectant  public. 

In  1703,  the  company  was  at  Bath,  where  Queen  Anne  might 
have  been  seen  in  the  Pump  Room  in  the  morning, — later  in  the 
day,  at  the  play.  But  the  joyous  and  brilliant  queen  of  comedy 
was  not  there.  Mrs.  Verbruggen,  the  Mrs.  Mountfort  of  earlier 
days,  was  ill  in  town,  nursing  a  baby,  whose  birth  ultimately  cost 
the  life  of  the  mother.  There  was  a  scramble  for  her  parts.  Each 
of  the  more  influential  actresses  obtained  several ;  but  to  young 
and  unobtrusive  Mrs.  Oldfield,  there  fell  but  one, — the  mediocre 
part  of  Leonora,  in  "  Sir  Courtly  Nice."  Gibber  reluctantly  ran 
over  the  scenes  with  her,  at  her  request,  in  Avhich  the  Knight  and 
the  Lady  meet.  He  was  careless,  from  lack  of  appreciation  of  the 
actress  ;  she  was  piqued,  and  sullenly  repeated  the  words  set  down 
for  her.  There  was,  in  short,  a  mutual  distaste.  But,  when  the 
night  came,  Colley  saw  the  almost  perfect  actress  before  him,  and 
as  he  says, — "  she  had  a  just  occasion  to  triumph  over  the  error 
of  my  judgment,  by  the  almost  amazement  that  her  unexpectc<l 
performance  awaked  me  to ;  so  sudden  and  forward  a  step  into 
nature  I  had  never  seen.  And  what  made  her  performance  more 
valuable  was,  that  I  knew  it  all  proceeded  from  her  own  under- 
standing,— untaught  and  unassisted  by  any  one  more  experienced 
actor."  Any  other  player  but  Gibber,  in  his  place,  would  have 
laid  Anne  Oldfield's  success  to  the  instruction  he  had  given  her  at 
rehearsal. 


MRS.    OLDFIELD.  291 

Colley  Gibber  had  then  in  his  desk  the  unfinished  manuscript 
of  his  "  Careless  Husband ;"  it  had  long  lain  there,  through  the 
author's  hopelessness  of  ever  finding  an  actress  who  would  realize 
his  idea  of  Lady  Betty  Modish.  He  had  no  longer  any  doubt. 
He  at  once  finished  the  piece,  brought  it  on  the  stage,  and  silent 
as  to  his  own  share  in  the  triumph,  attributed  it  all,  or  nearly  all, 
to  Mrs.  Oldfield.  "  Not  only  to  the  uncommon  excellence  of  her 
action ;  but  even  to  her  personal  manner  of  conversing."  I  must 
repeat  what  Gibber  tells  us,  that  many  of  the  sentiments  were 
Mrs.  Oldfield's,  dressed  up  by  him,  "  with  a  little  more  care  than 
when  they  negligently  fell  from  her  lively  humor."  Respecting 
what  Gibber  adds,  that  "  had  her  birth  placed  her  in  a  higher 
rank  of  life,  she  had  certainly  appeared  to  be,  in  reality,  what  in 
the  play  she  only  excellently  acted, — an  agreeably  gay  wonian  of 
quality,  a  little  too  conscious  of  her  natural  attractions,  I  will 
remark  that,  as  she  really  appeared  to  be  so,  her  birth  (she  was  a 
gentleman's  daughter)  could  not  prevent  her  from  appearing  so. 
And  Gibber  avows,  what  the  testimony  of  Walpole  confirms,  that 
he  had  "  often  seen  her  in  pi'ivate  societies,  where  women  of  the 
best  rank  might  have  borrowed  some  part  of  her  behavior  without 
the  least  diminution  of  their  sense  or  dignity." 

In  1702,  the  merit  of  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  not  recognized  by  Gildon, 
who,  in  his  "  Gomparison  between  the  two  Stages,"  classes  her 
among  "the  rubbish,"  of  which  the  stage  should  be  swept.  Of 
Mrs.  Verbruggen  (Mountfort),  he  speaks  as  "  a  miracle."  He 
could  not  see  that  Oldfield  would  be  her  successor,  and  would,  in 
some  parts,  even  excel  her.  By  the  year  1706,  however,  she  had 
risen  to  be  on  an  equality  with  such  a  brilliant  favorite  as  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,  whom,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  her  younger  com- 
petitor surpassed.  The  salary  of  the  latter  then,  and  for  some 
years  later,  was  not,  however,  a  large  one,  if  measured  by  modern 
rule.  Four  pounds  a  week,  with  a  benefit, — in  all,  little  more 
than  £250  a  year,  cannot  be  called  excessive  guerdon.  Her  own 
benefit  was  always  profitable ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  add,  that  this 
joyous-looking  creature,  apparently  brimful  of  good  nature,  was  very 
reluctant  to  play  for  the  benefit  of  her  colleagues.  Subsequently, 
her  revenue  from  the  stage-salary  and  benefit  averaged  abouf. 
£500  a  year. 


292  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

A  remark  of  her's  to  Gibber,  shows  how  she  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  her  pcarts.  Gibber  had  replaced  Dickey  Norris,  who  was 
ill,  in  the  part  of  Barnaby  Brittle,  in  the  "  Amorous  Widow,"  in 
which  Mrs.  Oldfield  played  Barnaby's  wife.  The  couple  are  a 
sort  of  George  Dandin  and  his  spouse.  When  the  play  was  over, 
Gibber  asked  her,  in  his  familiar  way,  "  Nancy,  how  did  you  like 
your  new  husband  ?"  "  Very  well,"  said  she ;  "  but  not  half  so 
well  as  Dickey  Norris."  "  How  so  ?"  asked  Gibber.  "  You  are 
too  important  a  figure,"  she  answered ;  "  but  Dickey  is  so  dimin- 
utive, and  looks  so  sneaking,  that  he  seems  born  to  be  deceived ; 
and  when  he  plays  with  me,  I  make  him  what  a  husband  most 
dislikes  to  be,  with  hearty  good  will." 

Genest  cites  Gibber,  Ghetwood  and  Davies,  in  order  to  describe 
her  adequately.  "  After  her  success  in  Lady  Betty  Modish,"  he 
says,  "  all  that  nature  had  given  her  of  the  actress  seemed  to  have 
risen  to  its  full  perfection  ;  but  the  variety  of  her  powers  could 
not  be  known  till  she  was  seen  in  variety  of  characters  which,  as 
fast  as  they  fell  to  her,  she  equally  excelled  in.  In  the  wearing  of 
her  person  she  was  particularly  fortunate ;  her  figure  was  always 
improving,  to  her  thirty-sixth  year ;  but  her  excellence  in  acting 
was  never  at  a  stand.  And  Lady  Townley,  one  of  her  last  new 
parts,  was  a  proof  that  she  was  still  able  to  do  more,  if  more  could 
have  been  done  for  her." 

Davies,  after  noticing  her  figure  and  expression,  says  of  her 
"  large  speaking  eyes,"  that  in  some  particular  comic  situations 
she  kept  them  half  shut,  especially  when  she  intended  to  give  effect 
to  some  brilliant  or  gay  thought.  In  sprightliness  of  air  and 
elegance  of  manner,  she  excelled  all  actresses,  and  was  greatly  su- 
perior in  the  clear,  sonorous,  and  harmonious  tones  of  her  voice. 

How  are  Wilks  and  the  inimitable  She  photographed  for  pos- 
terity ?  "  Wilks's  Gopper  Gaptain  was  esteemed  one  of  his  best 
characters.  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  equally  happy  in  Estifania.  When 
she  drew  the  pistol  from  her  pocket,  pretending  to  shoot  Perez, 
Wilks  drew  back,  as  if  greatly  terrified,  and  in  a  tremulous  voice, 
uttered,  '  What,  thine  own  husband !'  To  which  she  replied,  with 
archness  of  countenance  and  a  half  shut  eye,  '  Let  mine  own  hus- 
band then  be  in  's  own  wits,'  in  a  tone  of  voice  in  imitation  of  his, 
that  the  theatre  was  in  a  tumult  of  applause." 


MRS.    OLDFIELD.  293 

From  Gibber,  again,  we  learn  that  she  was  modest  and  un- 
piesuming ;  that  in  all  the  parts  she  undertook,  she  sought  en- 
lightenment and  instruction  from  every  quarter,  "  but  it  was  a  hard 
matter  to  give  her  a  hint  that  she  was  not  able  to  improve." 
With  managers  she  was  not  exacting ;  "  she  lost  nothing  by  her 
easy  conduct;  she  had  every  thing  she  asked,  which  she  took 
care  should  be  always  reasonable,  because  she  hated  as  much  to 
be  grudged  as  to  be  denied  a  civility." 

Like  Mrs.  Barry,  she  entered  fully  into  the  character  slie  had 
to  represent,  and  examined  it  closely,  in  order  to  grasp  it  effect- 
ually. When  the  "Beaux'  Stratagem"  was  in  rehearsal  (1707), 
in  which  she  played  Mrs.  Sullen,  she  remarked  to  Wilks,  that  she 
thought  the  author  had  dealt  too  freely  with  Mrs.  Sullen,  in  givino- 
her  to  Archer,  without  such  a  proper  divorce  as  would  be  a 
security  to  her  honor.  Wilks  communicated  this  to  the  author. 
"  Tell  her,"  said  poor  Farquliar,  who  was  then  dying,  "  that  for 
her  peace  of  mind's  sake,  I'll  get  a  real  divorce,  marry  her  myself, 
and  give  her  my  bond  she  shall  be  a  real  widow  in  less  than  a 
fortnight." 

Mrs.  Oldfield  was  the  original  representative  of  sixty-five  char- 
acters. The  gr'^^ater  number  of  these  belong  to  genteel  comedy, 
as  it  is  called,  a  v^areer  which  she  commenced  as  peculiarly  her 
own,  in  1703,  when  chance  assigned  to  her  the  part  of  Leonora, 
in  "Sir  Courtly  Nice."  Her  wonderful  success  in  this,  induced 
Gibber  to  trust  to  her  the  part  of  Lady  Betty  Modish,  in  the 
"  Gareless  Husband,"  the  comedy  which  he  had  put  aside  in  de- 
spair of  finding  a  lady  equal  to  his  conception  of  the  character. 
Her  mere  conversation  in  that  play  intoxicated  the  house.  At  a 
later  period,  her  audiences  were  even  more  ecstatic  at  her  Lady 
Townley, — an  ecstasy  in  which  the  managers  must  have  shared,  for 
they  immediately  added  fifty  guineas  to  her  salary.  It  was  just 
the  sum  which  the  benevolent  actress  gave  annually  to  that  most 
contemptibly  helpless  personage.  Savage.  Her  highest  salarv 
never,  I  believe,  exceeded  three  hundred  guineas;  but  this  was 
exclusive  of  benefits,  occasions  on  which  gold  was  showered  into 
her  lap. 

Humor,  grace,  vivacity, — all  were  exuberant  on  the  stage,  when 
she  and  Wilks  were  playing  against  each  other.     Indeed,  one  can 


294  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

hardly  realize  the  idea  of  this  supreme  queen  of  comedy  wearing 
the  robe  and  illustrating  the  sorrows  of  tragedy.  She,  for  her  own 
part,  disliked  the  latter  vocation.  She  hated,  as  she  said  often,  to 
have  a  page  dragging  her  tail  about.  "  Why  do  not  they  give 
these  parts  to  Porter  ?  She  can  put  on  a  better  tragedy-face  than 
I  can."  Earnest  as  she  was,  however,  in  these  characters  before 
the  audience,  she  was  fi"olicsome  at  rehearsal.  When  "  Cato"  was 
in  preparation,  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  cast  for  Marcia,  the  philosophical 
statesman's  daughter.  Addison  attended  the  rehearsals,  and  Swift 
was  at  Addison's  side,  making  suggestions,  and  marking  the  char- 
acteristics of  the  lively  people  about  him.  He  never  had  a  good 
word  for  woman,  and  consequently  he  had  his  usual  coarse 
epithet  for  Mrs.  Oldfield,  speaking  of  her  as  "  the  drab  that  played 
Cato's  daughter ;"  and  railing  at  her  for  her  hilarity  while  rehear- 
sing that  passionate  part,  and,  in  her  forgetful n ess,  calling  merrily 
out  to  the  prompter, "  What  next  ?  what  next  ?" 

Yet  this  hilarious  actress  played  Cleopatra  with  dignity,  and 
Calista  with  feeling.  She  accepted  with  great  reluctance  the  part 
of  Semandra,  in  "  Mithridates,"  when  that  tragedy  was  revived 
in  1708 ;  but  Chetwood  says  she  performed  the  part  to  perfection, 
and  became  reconciled  to  tragedy,  by  reason  of  her  success.  In 
these  characters,  however,  she  could  be  excelled  by  others,  but  in 
Lady  Betty  Modish  and  Lady  Townley,  she  was  probably  never 
equalled.  In  the  comedy  of  lower  life,  she  was,  perhaps,  less  ori- 
ginal ;  at  least,  Anthony  Aston  remarks,  that  in  free  comedy  she 
borrowed  something  from  Mrs.  Verbruggen's  manner.  When 
Wilks,  as  Lord  Townley,  exclaimed  "  Prodigious !"  in  the  famous 
scene  with  his  lady,  played  by  Mrs.  Oldfield,  the  house  applied  it 
to  her  acting,  and  broke  into  repeated  rounds  of  applause. 

"  Who  should  act  genteel  comedy,  perfectly,"  asks  Walpole, 
*'but  people  of  fashion  that  have  sense?  Actors  and  actresses 
can  only  guess  at  the  tone  of  high  life,  and  cannot  be  inspired 
with  it.  Why  are  there  so  few  genteel  comedies,  but  because 
most  comedies  are  written  by  men  not  of  that  sphere.  Etherege, 
Congreve,  Vanbrugh  and  Gibber  wrote  genteel  comedy,  because 
they  lived  in  the  best  company ;  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  played  it  so 
well,  because  she  not  only  followed,  but  oft«n  set  the  fashion. 
General  Burgoyne  has  writ  the  best  modern  comedy  for  the  same 


MRS.    OLDFIELD.  295 

reason ;  and  Mis.s  Farren  is  as  excellent  as  Mrs.  Oldfield,  because 
she  has  lived  with  the  best  style  of  men  in  England.  Farquhar's 
plays  talk  the  language  of  a  marching  regiment  in  country-quarters. 
Wycherley,  Dryden,  Mrs.  Centlivre,  &c.,  wrote  as  if  they  had  only 
lived  in  the  Rose  Tavern  ;  but  then  the  Court  lived  in  Drury  Lane 
too,  and  Lady  Dorchester  and  Nell  Gwyn  were  equally  good  com- 
pany." 

In  this  there  is  some  injustice  against  Mrs.  Centlivre,  for  whose 
name  should  be  supplied  that  of  Aphra  Behn.  Walpole  judges 
more  correctly  of  the  comic  writers  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
when  he  places  Moliere,  "  Scnor  Moleiro,"  as  Downes  absurdly 
calls  him,  at  the  head  of  them  all.  "  Who  upon  earth,"  he  says, 
"  has  written  such  perfect  comedies  ?  for  the  '  Careless  Husband' 
is  but  one ;  the  '  Nonjuror'  was  built  on  the  '  TartufFe,'  and  if  the 
Man  of  Mode  (Etherege)  and  Vanbrugh  are  excellent,  they  are  too 
indelicate ;  and  Congreve,  who  beat  all  for  wit,  is  not  always  nat- 
ural, still  less,  simple." 

It  has  been  said  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  that  she  never  troubled  the 
peace  of  any  lady  at  the  head  of  a  household ;  but  I  think  she 
may  have  marred  the  expectations  of  some  who  desired  to  reach 
that  eminence.  She  early  captivated  the  heart  of  Mr.  Mayn waring. 
He  was  a  bachelor,  rich,  connected  with  the  government,  and  a 
hard  drinker,  according  to  the  prevailing  fashion.  He  was  Cymon 
subdued  by  Iphigenia.  He  loved  the  lady's  refinement,  and  she 
kept  his  household  as  carefully  as  if  she  had  been  his  wife,  and 
presided  at  his  table  with  a  grace  that  charmed  \nm.  There  was 
something  of  Beauty  and  the  Beast  in  this  connection,  but  the  end 
of  the  fable  was  Avanting ;  the  animal  was  never  converted  to  an 
Azor,  and  a  marriage  with  Zemira  was  the  one  thing  wanting. 

When  Mayn  waring  died,  society  almost  looked  upon  her  as  an 
honest  widow.  Indeed,  it  had  never  rejected  her.  The  standard 
of  morals  was  low,  and  when  the  quasi  widow  accepted  the  pro- 
posal of  General  Churchill  to  place  her  at  the  head  of  his  establish- 
ment, as  she  had  been  in  that  of  Mr.  Maynwaring,  no  one  blamed 
her.  Marriage,  indeed,  seems  to  have  been  thought  of,  and 
Queen  Caroline,  who  did  not  at  all  disdain  to  stoop  to  little  mat- 
ters of  gossip,  one  day  remarked  to  Mrs.  Oldfield,  who  had,  I  sup- 
pose, been  reading  to  a  court  circle,  "  I  hear,  Mrs.  Oldfield,  that 


296  dorain's  annals  of  the  stage. 

you  and  the  General  are  married  ?"  "  Madam,"  said  the  actress, 
playing  her  very  best,  "tlie  General  keeps  his  own  secrets  !" 

The  two  love  passages  in  the  life  of  Anne  Oldfield  were,  in 
short,  founded  on  sentiment,  and  not  on  interest.  The  Duke  of 
IJedford  offered  her  more  brilliant  advantages  than  the  General 
or  the  Squire ;  but  the  disinterested  actress  spurned  them,  and 
kept  sisterhood  with  duchesses.  She  was  to  be  seen  on  the  ter- 
race at  Windsor,  walking  with  the  consorts  of  dukes,  and  with 
countesses,  and  wives  of  English  barons,  and  the  whole  gay  group 
might  be  heard  calling  one  another  by  their  Christian  names.  In 
later  days,  Kitty  Clive  called  such  fine  folk  "  damaged  quality ;" 
and  later  still,  the  second  Mrs.  Barry  did  not  value  such  com- 
panionship at  a  "pin's  fee  ;"  but  Anne  Oldfield  drew  from  it  many 
an  illustration,  which  she  transported  to  the  stage. 

During  her  last  season,  her  sufterings  were  often  so  acute  that 
when  the  applause  was  loudest,  the  poor  actress  turned  aside  to 
hide  the  tears  forced  from  her  by  pain.  She  never  gave  up  till 
the  agony  was  too  great  to  be  endured,  and  then  she  refused  to 
receive  a  salary  which,  according  to  her  articles,  was  not  to  be 
discontinued  in  illness.  She  lingered  a  few  months  in  her  house 
in  Lower  Grosvenor  Street ;  the  details  of  her  last  moments,  as 
given  by  Pope,  mingle  a  little  truth  with  much  error  and  exagge- 
ration : — 

"  'Odious I  in  woollen?  'twould  a  saint  provoke  I' 
Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narciss<a  spoke. 
'  No,  let  a  charming  chintz  and  Brussels  lace 
Wrap  my  cold  limbs  and  shade  my  lifeless  face ; 
One  would  not  sure  be  frightful  when  one's  dead.' 
And,  Betty,  give  this  cheek  a  little  red  !" 

Betty  was  the  ex-actress,  Mrs.  Saunders,  who  resided  with 
Narcissa.  She  had  quitted  the  stage  in  1720,  and,  says  Mr. 
Urban,  "attended  Mrs.  Oldfield  constantly,  and  did  the  office  of 
priest  to  the  last."  Poor  Narcissa,  after  death,  was  attired  in  a 
Holland  night-dress,  with  tucker  and  double  ruffles  of  Brussels 
lace,  of  which  latter  material  she  also  wore  a  head-dress,  and  a 
pair  of  "new  kid  gloves."  This,  another  writer  calls  being 
"buried  in  full  dress^  The  report  seems  to  h4,ve  been  founded 
on  Mrs.  Oldfield's  natural  good  taste  in  costume.     Flavia,  such  is 


MRS.    OLDFIELD.  297 

her  name  in  the  Tatler,  "  is  ever  well  drest,  and  always  the  j^on- 
teelest  woman  you  meet ;  her  clothes  are  so  exactly  fitted  that 
they  appear  part  of  her  person," 

It  was  in  the  above  described  dress  that  the  deceased  actress 
received  such  honor  as  actress  never  received  before,  nor  has  ever 
received  since.  The  lady  lay  in  state  in  the  Jerusalem  Chamber, 
a  distinction  not  unfrequently,  indeed,  conceded  to  persons  of  high 
rank  and  small  merit,  but  which,  nevertheless,  seemed  out  of  place 
in  the  case  of  Anne  Oldfield ;  but  had  she  been  really  a  queen,  the 
public  could  not  have  thronged  more  eagerly  to  the  spectacle. 

The  solemn  lying  in  state  of  an  English  actress  in  the  Jeru- 
salem Chamber,  the  sorrow  of  the  public  over  their  lost  favorite, 
and  the  regret  of  friends  in  noble,  or  humble,  but  virtuous  homes, 
where  Mrs.  Oldfield  had  been  ever  welcome,  contrast  strongly 
with  the  French  sentiment  towards  French  players.  It  has  been 
already  said,  that  as  long  as  Clairon  exercised  the  power,  when 
she  advanced  to  the  foot-lights,  to  make  the  (then  standing)  pit 
recoil  several  feet,  by  the  mere  magic  of  her  eyes,  the  pit,  who 
enjoyed  the  terror  as  a  luxury,  flung  crowns  to  her,  and  wept  at 
the  thought  of  losing  her ;  but  Clairon  infirm  was  Clairon  forgotten, 
and  to  a  decaying  actor  or  actress  a  French  audience  is  the  most 
merciless  in  the  world.  The  brightest  and  best  of  them,  as  with 
us,  died  in  the  service  of  the  public.  Monfleury,  Mondory,  and 
Bricourt,  died  of  apoplexy,  brought  on  by  excess  of  zeal.  Mo- 
liere,  who  fell  in  harness,  was  buried  with  less  ceremony  than 
some  favorite  dog.  The  charming  Lecouvi'eur,  that  Oldfield  of 
the  French  stage,  whose  beauty  and  intellect  were  the  double 
charm  which  rendered  theatrical  Fi-ance  ecstatic,  was  hurriedly  in- 
terred within  a  saw-pit.  Bishops  might  be  exceedingly  interested 
in,  and  unepiscopally  generous  to,  living  actresses  of  wit  and 
beauty,  but  the  prelates  smote  them  with  a  "  Maranatha !"  and  an 
"  Avaunt  ye !"  when  dead.  Even  Bossuet  would  attend  the 
theatre  to  learn  grace  and  elocution  from  them  and  their  brethren  ; 
but  when  he  had  profited  by  the  instruction,  he  denounced  them 
all  as  "  children  of  the  devil  !"  Louis  XVIIL,  however,  put  an 
effectual  check  on  the  unseemly  practice  of  treating  as  dead  dogs 
the  geniuses  who  had  been  idiolized  when  living.  When  the 
priests  of  the  Church  of  St,  Roch  closed  its  doors  against  the 
13* 


298  doran's  annals  of  i'he  stage. 

body  of  Rancourt,  brought  there  for  a  prayer  and  a  blessing, 
Paris  rose  against  the  insulters  ;  and  the  King,  moved  by  Christian 
charity,  or  dread  of  a  Paris  riot,  sent  his  own  chaplain  to  recite 
the  prayer,  give  the  benediction,  and  to  show  that  an  honest 
player  was  not  a  something  less  than  a  fellow-creature. 

After  the  lying  in  state  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  there  was  a  funeral  of 
as  much  ceremony  as  has  been  observed  at  the  obsequies  of  many 
a  queen.  Among  the  supporters  of  the  pall  were  Lord  Ilervey, 
Lord  Delawarr,  and  Bubb  Dodington,  afterwards  Lord  Melcombe. 
The  first  used  to  ride  abroad  with  Mrs.  Oldfield,  as  Mrs.  Delaney 
has  recorded.  Lord  Delawarr  was  a  soldier  who  became  a  great 
"  beau,"  and  went  a  philandering.  His  wife  and  the  Countess  of 
Burlington  headed  the  Faustina  party  at  the  opera  against  the  fac- 
tion which  supported  Cuzzoni.  There  were  anthems,  and  prayers, 
and  sermon  ;  and  Dr.  Parker,  who  ofliiciatcd,  remarked,  when  all  was 
over,  to  a  few  particular  friends,  and  with  some  equivocation,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  that  he  "  buried  her  very  willingly,  and  with  much 
satisfaction."  Her  sons  Maynwaring  and  Churchill  were  present, 
and  the  contemporary  notices  say  that  she  had  no  other  children. 
Her  friends  were  apt  to  express  a  different  opinion  ;  and  Mrs.  Dela- 
ney, in  one  of  the  very  first  passages  in  her  Autobioffraphij,  says : — 
"  At  six  years  old  I  was  placed  under  the  care  of  Mdlle.  Puelle,  a 
refugee  of  a  very  respectable  character,  and  well  qualified  for  her 
business.  She  undertook  but  twenty  scholars  at  a  time,  among 
whom  were  Lady  Catherine  Knollys,  daughter  to  the"  (self- 
styled)  "  Earl  of  Banbury,  and  great  aunt  to  the  present  Lord  ; 
Miss  Halsey,  daughter  to  a  very  considerable  brewer,  and  after- 
wards married  to  Lord  Temple,  Earl  of  Cobham  ;  Lady  Jane 
Douglas,  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Douglas,  and  Miss  Dye  Bertie, 
a  daughter  of  Mrs.  Oldfield  the  actress,  who,  after  leaving  school, 
was  the  pink  of  fashion  in  the  beau  monde,  and  married  a  noble- 
man."    Who  did  this  mysterious  Diana  maiTy  ? 

This  daughter  is  not  mentioned  in  Mrs.  Oldficld's  will ;  but  to 
the  two  sons  Mrs.  Oldfield  becjueathed  the  bulk  of  a  fortune 
which  she  had  amassed  more  by  her  exertions  than  by  the  gener- 
osity of  tlieir  respective  fathers.  She  was  liberal,  too,  in  leaving 
memorials  to  numerous  friends ;  less  so  in  her  bequests  to  old 
relations  of  her  sempstress  and  coffee-house  days.     A  very  small 


MRS.    OLDFIELD,  299 

annuity  was  Narcissa's  parting  gift  to  her  mother,  who  long  sur- 
vived her. 

In  such  wise  went  her  money ;  but  whither  lias  the  blood  of 
Oldfield  gone?  When  Winnifred,  the  dairy-maid,  married  into 
the  family  of  the  Bickerstaffes,  she  is  said  to  have  spoiled  their 
blood,  Avhile  she  mended  their  constitutions.  The  great  actress 
lierself  was  at  least  an  honest  man's  daughter,  a  man  of  fair  de- 
scent. Her  son.  Colonel  Churchill,  once,  unconsciously,  saved  Sir 
Robert  Walpole  from  assassination,  through  the  latter  riding  home, 
from  the  House,  in  the  Colonel's  chariot  instead  of  alone  in  his 
owu.  Unstable  Churchill  man-ied  a  natural  daughter  of  Sir 
Robert,  and  their  daughter  Mary  married,  in  1777,  Charles  Sloane, 
first  Earl  of  Cadogan.  The  son  of  this  Mary  is  the  present  Earl, 
the  great  grandson  of  charming  Anne  Oldfield.  When  Churchill 
and  his  wife  were  travelling  in  France,  a  Frenchman,  knowing 
he  was  connected  with  poets  or  plnyers,  asked  him  if  he  was 
Churchill  the  famous  poet.  "  I  am  not,"  said  Mrs.  Oldfield's  son. 
"  Ma  foi !"  rejoined  the  polite  Frenchman,  "  so  much  the  worse 
for  you !" 

I  have  seen  many  epitaphs  to  her  memory,  but  there  is  not  one 
which  is  so  complete  and  beautiful  as  the  following,  which  tells 
the  reader  that  she  lies  amid  great  poets,  not  less  worthy  of  praise 
than  thty,  whose  works  she  has  illustrated  and  ennobled.  It  re- 
cords the  apt  universality  of  her  talent,  which  made  her  seem  not 
made,  but  born  for  whatever  she  undertook.  In  tragedy,  the  glory 
of  her  form,  the  dignity  of  her  countenance,  the  majesty  of  her 
walk,  touched  the  rudest  spectator.  In  comedy,  her  power,  her 
graceful  hilarity,  her  singular  felicity,  were  so  irresistible,  that  the 
eyes  never  wearied  of  gazing  at  her,  nor  the  hands  of  applauding 
her. 

"  Hie  juxta  requiescit 

Tot  inter  poetarum  laudata  nomina, 

ANNA  OLDFIELD. 

Nee  ipsa  minore  laude  digna, 

Quippe  qua?  eorum  opera. 

In  sccnara  qnotidics  prodivit, 

lUustravit  semper  et  nobilitavit. 

Nunquam  ingeniiuu  idem  ad  partes  diversissimaa 

Habilius  fuit. 


300  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Ita  tamen  ut  ad  singulas 

Non  facta  sed  nata  esse  videietur, 

In  tragsediis 

Formre  splendor,  oris  dignitas,  incessus  majestas, 

Tanta  vocis  suavitate  temperabantur. 

Ut  nemo  esset  tam  agrestis,  tarn  durus  spectator, 

Qiiin  in  admirationem  totus  raperetur. 

In  comoedia  autem 

Tanta  vis,  tarn  venusta  hilaritas,  tam  curiosa  felicitaa 

Ut  neque  sufficerent  spectando  oculi, 

Neque  plaudendo  manus." 

I  have  said  tliat  lier  last  original  part  was  Sophonisba.  Among 
the  last  words  she  uttered  in  it,  when  mortal  illness  was  upon  her, 
were  these  : — 

"  And  is  the  sacred  moment  then  so  near, 
The  moment  when  yon  sun,  these  heavens,  this  earth 
Shall  sink  at  once,  and  straight  another  state, 
New  scenes,  new  joys,  new  faculties,  new  wonders, 
Rise,  on  a  sudden,  round?" 

These  words  were  first  spoken  by  her,  on  the  last  day  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1730.  On  the  23d  of  the  following  October  she  died,  in 
her  forty-seventh  year.  A  week  later.  Dr.  Parker  "  buried  her, 
very  willingly,  and  with  much  satisfaction  1" 


1729  TO  1734.  301 


CHAPTER  XX. 

FROM  THE  DEATH  OF  ANNE  OLDFIELD  TO  THAT  OF  WILK8. 

Between  the  season  of  1729-30,  and  that  of  1733-4,  great 
changes  took  place.  It  is  correct  to  say,  that  the  stage  "  de- 
clined ;"  but  if  we  lose  Mrs.  Oldfield  in  the  former  period,  we 
find  some  compensation  at  the  beginning  of  the  latter,  by  first 
meeting,  in  Fielding  and  Hippisley's  booth,  at  Bartholomew  and 
Southwark  fairs,  with  one  who  was  destined  to  enthral  the  town, 
— modest  Mrs.  Pritchard,  playing  Loveit,  in  a  "  Cure  for  Covet- 
ousness." 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Porter  reigned  supreme ;  but  the  stage  was 
deprived,  for  more  than  a  year,  of  the  presence  of  her  whom  Mrs. 
Oldfield  loved  to  address  as  "  mother,"  by  an  accident  which  dis- 
located her  thigh.  Even  after  her  recovery,  the  tragedy  queen 
was  forced  to  walk  the  stage  with  a  crutched  stick,  which,  like  a 
true  artist,  she  turned  to  account  in  her  action. 

Of  actors  of  eminence,  the  greatest  whom  the  stage  lost  was 
Wilks,  airy  and  graceful  down  to  the  last ; — of  him,  who  died  in 
1732,  I  will  speak  more  fully  presently.  Death  also  carried  oflf 
quaint,  squeaking  little  Non-is,  the  excellent  comic  actor,  popu- 
larly known  as  "  Jubilee  Dicky."  After  Norris  went  Bohemc, 
the  pillar  of  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  a  dignified  and  accomplished 
tragedian,  whose  Lear  was  full  of  antique  grandeur  and  pathos ; — 
it  was,  perhaps,  the  only  character  in  which  the  former  young 
sailor's  quarter-deck-walk  was  not  discernible.  Colley  Cibber, 
too,  must  be  reckoned  among  the  departed,  since  he  retired  from 
the  stage  at  the  end  of  the  season  1732-3, — but  occasionally  re- 
turned to  it.  He  was  disheartened  by  the  break-up  in  the  old 
partnership,  and  the  manifest  close  of  a  period  of  prosperity. 
Booth  had  sold  half  of  his  share  in  the  patent  to  a  rich  and  silly 
amateur  actor, — Highmore.  Wilks's  widow,  who  inherited  her 
husband's  share,  was  represented  by  attorney ;  CoUev  was  uneasy 


302  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

at  having  to  encounter  new  partners,  and  he  ultimately  sold  hi$ 
share  to  Highmore,  for  three  thousand  guineas. 

While  the  stage  foiled  in  players,  it  was  not  upheld  by  the 
poets.  The  gentlemen  of  the  inns  of  court  hissed  Charles  John- 
son's "  Medea,"  and  did  not  even  applaud  the  satirical  allusion, 
contained  in  it,  to  Pope.  The  town  was  weary  of  classical  pieces. 
The  "  Eurydice,"  of  Mallet, — who  had  been  gate-keeper  at  the  Edin- 
burgh High  School,  and  had  picked  up  learning  enough  to  enable 
him  to  efficiently  exercise  the  office  of  tutor  in  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
trose's family, — fared  no  better,  despite  Mrs.  Porter.  The  piece 
was  as  hard  and  as  dry  as  granite ;  but  the  author  though  it  had 
as  much  pathos  as  his  ballad  of  "  William  and  Margaret." 

In  the  prologue,  tragedy  was  especially  recommended  to  the 
patronage  of  ladies,  because  therein  the  character  of  woman  is  ex- 
alted ;  while  in  the  comedies  of  the  day  it  was  debased.  But  the 
epilogue,  spoken  by  Miss  Robinson,  in  boy's  clothes, — "  born  for 
this  dapper  age — pert,  short,  and  clever," — showed  that  the  poet 
did  not  much  care  for  the  female  character. 

Jeffi-eys'  "  Merope"  had  no  better  success.  His  cousins  of  the 
Chandos  family  may  have  laughed  at  the  young  collegian's  bathos ; 
but  on  the  second  night  there  was  not  audience  enough  to  make 
a  laugh  comfortable,  and  the  curtain  did  not  rise.  Critics  com- 
plained, that  all  tragic  action  on  our  stage,  turned  on  love ;  and 
Jeffi-eys  contrived  to  make  three  couple  of  nymphs  and  swains 
sigh  or  swear,  in  this  story  of  mother  and  son  !  "  Who  could  be- 
lieve," says  Voltaire,  "  that  love  could  have  been  introduced  into 
such  a  story  ?  But,  since  the  time  of  Charles  H.,  love  has  taken 
possession  of  the  English  stage ;  and  one  must  acknowledge,  that 
no  nation  in  the  world  has  painted  that  passion  so  badly."  But 
Voltaire,  you  will  remember,  also  said  that  Shakspeare  was  "  a 
savage !" 

A  Gloucestershire  squire,  named  Tracy,  tried  his  hand  on  "  Peri- 
ander,"  and  failed,  though  he  was  guiltless  of  a  false  quantity ; 
unlike  Addison's  learned  friend,  Frowde,  who  tripped  in  his  pe- 
nultimates, with  the  alacrity  of  Hughes ! 

It  was  not  altogether  because  our  ancestors  were  weary  of  classi- 
cal tragedies,  that  a  short,  fat,  one-eyed,  and  well-to-do  dissenter 
and  ieweller,  of  Moorgate  Street,  reaped  such  a  triumph,  with  his 


1729  TO  173i.  303 

modern  and  domestic  tragedy, — "  George  Barnwell."  Mr.  Lillo 
had  previously  written  a  ballad-opera,  "Sylvia;"  but  now  he 
aimed  to  show  the  hideousness  and  consequence  of  vice.  "  George 
Barnwell"  was  first  acted  at  Drury  Lane,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Midsummer  holidays  of  1731.  Theophilus  Gibber  played  the 
hero ;  Mrs.  Butler,  Milwood.  The  audience  looked  for  fun,  and 
took  the  old  ballad, — there  was  the  flutter  of  a  thousand  copies  in 
the  house,  to  compare  it  with  the  play.  Pope  was  present,  and 
expressed  an  opinion  that  the  language  was  often  too  elevated  for 
the  personages ;  and  the  hearers  thought  only  of  the  story,  as  illus- 
trated by  Lillo,  and  every  eye  was  weeping.  It  was  the  first  fairly 
honest  attempt  made  to  amend,  from  the  stage,  the  vices  and 
weaknesses  of  mankind;  and  it  certainly,  in  some  degree,  suc- 
ceeded. It  enlisted  the  sympathies  of  honest  women.  "  The  dis- 
tresses of  great  personages,"  says  a  lady,  in  the  Oentlemari's  Maga- 
zine, "  have  ceased  to  afiect  the  town,"  and  "  none  but  a  prostitute 
could  find  fault  with  this  tragedy."     Fault,  however,  was  found ; 

but  the  objection  was  answered  in  this  way; that  "lowness  of 

action  was  disallowed  in  a  tragedy,  but  not  lowness  of  character : 
the  circumstances  here  are  all  important."  One  critic  holds  the 
story  to  be  improbable  ;  but  contemporary  journals  furnish  a  paral- 
lel. A  mercer's  apprentice,  who  sleeps  in  his  master's  shop,  admits 
a  Milwood,  who  at  a  later  hour  refuses  to  leave,  until  he  will  cut 
off  satin  enough  to  make  her  a  robe.  Great  distress !  but,  at  a 
happy  moment,  a  virtuous  porter  arrives,  who,  on  hearing  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  perhaps  having  seen  the  tragedy,  lays  hold  of  the 
lady,  who  had  no  more  drapery  about  her  than  Lady  Godiva,  claps 
her  into  a  sack,  carries  her  off,  and  shoots  her  into  a  cart  full  of 
grains,  standing  unguarded.  The  naughty  person  is  suflfocated,  if 
I  remember  rightly  ;  but  the  honor  of  the  apprentice  is  saved  ! ! 

"  George  Barnwell"  brought  domestic  tragedy  into  fashion, 
and  Charles  Johnson  closed  his  dramatic  career  with  "  Ccelia,  or 
the  perjured  Lover,"  which  was  a  warning  to  young  ladies.  Ca?lia 
has  a  bad  and  a  good  lover, — warring  principles  !  She  prefers  the 
former,  with  ruin  for  a  consequence.  He  lodges  her  in  a  bagnio, 
where  she  is  swept  up  by  the  watch,  in  the  arrest  of  all  the 
inmates,  and  taken  to  Bridewell.  Thence  her  very  heavy  father 
takes  her  home,  while  the  good  lover  kills  the  bad  one  in  a  duel ; 


304r  doran's  axnals  v^f  the  stage. 

but  the  latter  politely  requests  that  the  avenger  will  consider 
Coelia  as  having  been  his  lawful  wife.  The  lady,  however,  dies 
in  her  father's  arms ;  the  curtain  comes  down  with  a  "  tag,"  and 
— then  on  tripped  the  epilogue,  to  ridicule  all  those  present  who 
were  disposed  to  profit  by  the  moral  of  the  drama ! 

Theophilus  Gibber's  "  Lover"  was  a  sort  of  pendant  to  the 
"  Nonjuror," — Granger  being  in  the  habit  of  going  regularly  to 
church,  and  daily  breaking  the  ten  commandments.  The  only 
enjoyment  the  audience  had, — who  fought  for  or  against  the 
piece  till  blood  flowed  abundantly, — was  in  the  epilogue,  in  which 
Mrs.  Theophilus  Gibber  smartly  satirized  the  failings  of  her  lord  ! 
The  audience  relished  it  amazingly. 

These  were  the  principal  novelties  of  the  period  about  which 
I  am  treating ;  but  I  must  add,  that  at  the  Haymarket,  and  at 
Goodman's  Fields,  where  Gitfard  had  created  in  Ayliffe  Street  a 
commodious  theatre,  far  superior  to  the  old  throwster's  shop, 
which  had  served  an  early  dramatic  purpose,  in  Leman  Street, 
sterling  old  plays,  with  operettas  and  burlesques,  were  played  at 
irregular  seasons.  Fielding  especially  distinguished  and  sometimes 
disgraced  himself.  He  had  not  yet  struck  upon  the  vein  which 
made  him  the  first  and  most  philosophical  of  English  novelists ; 
but  he  rose  from  his  squibs  and  farces  to  the  achievement  of  the 
"  Miser,"  in  itself  an  adaptation,  but  done  by  a  master  hand,  and 
with  a  double  result  of  triumph, — to  the  author,  and  to  GriflBn, 
the  clergyman's  son,  who  played  Lovegold.  There  were  smaller 
attempts  by  smaller  men,  but  these  I  omit,  to  record  the  failure 
of  Quin  in  Lear, — a  character  which  it  was  temerity  to  touch,  so 
soon  after  Boheme  had  ceased  to  be  the  King.  Mills  made  as 
great  a  mistake,  when,  at  nearly  sixty,  he  played  for  the  first  time 
— Hamlet.  The  public  cared  more  for  the  pantomimic  "  Harlot's 
Progress,"  got  up  by  Theophilus  Gibber  for  Drury  Lane,  where 
this  piece,  preceded  by  "George  Barnwell,"  must  have  been  as 
edifying  to  both  sexes  as  going  to  church, — a  result  in  which 
Hogarth  had  full  share  with  Lillo. 

I  have  noticed  the  actors  departing  and  departed,  and  the 
appearance  in  a  booth  of  Mrs.  Pritchard,  a  name  yet  to  be  famous 
and  respected — like  Mrs.  Betterton's.  So  during  this  period  I 
find    a   young   player,    Delane,    at  Goodman's  Fields,   who  will 


1729  TO  1734.  305 

advance  to  the  first  rank ;  but  also  a  greater  than  he,  Mack- 
lin,  quietly  playing  any  little  part  given  him  at  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  and  securing  his  firm  standing  ground  by  the  ability  with 
which  he  acquitted  himself  at  that  house,  when,  in  1731,  he  was 
suddenly  called  upon  to  play  Brazencourt,  in  Fielding's  "  Cofiee 
House  Politicians."  He  had  only  four  lines  to  speak ;  but  those 
he  spoke  so  well,  that  the  true  actor  was  at  once  discerned.  One 
may  fancy  the  tone  and  manner  in  which  the  rascal  exclaimed :-  - 
"  I  was  forced  to  turn  her  off"  for  stealing  four  of  my  shirts,  two 
pairs  of  stockings,  and  my  Common  Prayer  Book."  With  such 
small  opportunity,  Mr,  Maclean,  as  he  was  then  called,  led  up  to 
Shylock  and  Sir  Pertinax  Macsycophant ! 

Macklin  was  the  last  of  the  gi-eat  actors  who  played  at  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields ;  and  he  did  not  leave  Covent  Garden  until  after  the 
appearance  there  of  Braham,  who  was  yet  among  us  but  yester- 
day. The  first-named  house  had  never  rivalled  the  success  of 
Drury  Lane,  but  Rich  had  gained  enough  to  enable  him  to  build 
a  new  house,  and  the  last  play  acted  in  the  Fields  was  Ravens- 
croft's  "  Anatomist,"  one  of  the  worst  of  a  second-rate  author  of 
King  Charles's  days.  This  was  on  December  5,  1732.  Except 
for  a  few  nights,  irregularly,  the  old  house  never  opened  again. 
It  was  the  third  theatre  which  had  occupied  the  site  since  1662. 
In  1756  it  was  converted  into  a  barrack.  As  late  as  1848,  it  was 
Copeland's  China  Repository,  when  the  old  stage  door  and 
passage,  through  which  Quin  had  so  often  passed,  still  existed. 

There  had  been  a  long  expressed  desire  for  a  new  theatre ;  that 
is,  not  merely  a  new  edifice,  but  a  new  system.  The  proposal 
embraced  prospective  delights  for  authors,  such  as  they  had 
hitherto  never  dreamed  of.  In  the  published  prospectus  it  was 
stated  that  actors  and  authors  should  be  excluded  from  the 
management,  which  was  to  be  intrusted  to  individuals,  who,  at 
least,  knew  as  little  about  it ;  namely,  men  of  quality,  taste,  figure, 
and  of  a  fortune  varying  from  ten  to  twelve  hundred  pounds.  A 
committee  was  to  be  appointed,  whose  duty  it  would  be,  among 
others,  to  provide  for  the  efficient  reading  of  new  plays,  and  for 
their  being  listened  to  with  reverence  and  attention.  It  was 
calculated  that  the  annual  profit  of  such  a  theatre  would  amount 
to  £3,000  a  year,  and  that  out  of  it  an  annuity  of  £100  might  be 


306  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

set  aside  for  every  author  who  had  achieved  a  certain  amount  of 
success.  In  the  following  year,  the  Weekly  Miscellany  and  the 
Grub  Street  Journal  were  very  eager  on  the  subject  of  theatrical 
reform.  The  former  complained  that  high  comedy  and  dignified 
tragedy  had  deserted  the  stage ;  remarked  that  plays  were  not 
intended  for  tradesmen!  and  denounced  pantomimes  and  harle- 
quinades as  infamous.  The  Journal  was  rather  practical  than  re- 
flective. Old  Exeter  Change  was  then  to  let,  and  the  Journal 
proposed  that  it  should  be  converted  into  a  theatre;  adding  a 
suggestion,  which  required  above  a  century  and  a  quarter  to  be 
carried  into  realization ;  namely,  that  a  college  should  be  founded 
for  decayed  actors.  This  college  was  to  form  the  two  wings  of  the 
theatre ;  which  wings  were  to  be  inhabited  respectively  by  the  emeriti 
among  actors,  and  destitute  actresses,  whose  new  home  was  to  be 
within  sound  of  the  old  stirring  echoes  of  their  joyous  days.  The 
direction  of  the  establishment  was  to  be  confided  to  a  competent 
governor  and  officers  selected  from  among  the  decayed  nobility 
and  gentry  ;  and  the  glory  and  profit  resulting  were  calculated  at 
a  very  high  figure  indeed ! 

On  one  result  the  Grub  Street  congratulated  itself  with 
unctuous  pride.  If  the  stage  were  reformed,  the  universities  and 
inns  of  court  would  supply  actors.  Gentlemen,  said  Grub  Street, 
with  some  arrogance,  were  reluctant  to  go  among  the  scamps  on 
the  stage.  Then,  as  for  actresses.  Grub  rudely  declared  that  every 
charity  school  could  supply  a  dozen  wenches  of  more  decent 
education  and  character,  of  better  health,  brighter  youth,  more 
brilliant  beauty,  and  more  exalted  genius,  than  the  common  run 
of  hussies  then  on  the  stage ;  and  a  season's  training,  he  added, 
would  qualify  them  for  business.  This  was  a  hard  hit  at  men 
among  whom  there  were  many  well  born ;  and  at  women,  who, 
whatever  they  lacked,  possessed  the  happy  gifts  of  health,  youth, 
beauty,  and  genius ;  but  Grub  Streets  cynicism  was  probably 
founded  on  the  fact,  that  he  was  not  invited  by  the  men,  nor 
smiled  on  by  the  women. 

A  reform  before  the  curtain  was,  however,  now  as  loudly  called 
for  as  behind  it.  One  of  the  greatest  grievances  complained  of 
this  year  was  the  insolence  of  the  footmen.  Occupying  their 
masters'  places,  they  lolled  about  with  their  hats  on,  talked  aloud, 


1729  TO  1734.  3UV 

were  insolent  on  rebuke  from  the  audience,  and  when  they  with- 
drew, on  their  masters'  arrival,  to  their  own  gallery,  they  kept  up 
a  continual  tumult  there,  which  rendered  their  presence  intolerable. 
What  with  the  fine  gentlemen  on  the  stage,  and  their  lacqueys, 
selected  for  their  size,  personal  good  looks,  or  fine  hair,  in  the  gal- 
lery, the  would-be  attentive  audience  in  the  pit  were  driven  well 
nigh  to  desperation. 

Much  of  this  last  grievance  was  amended  when  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  was  opened,  on  the  7th  of  December,  17-32.  The  first 
piece  acted  was  Congreve's  *'  Way  of  the  World ;"  Fainall  by 
Quin,  Mirabel  by  Ryan,  who,  with  Walker,  Hippisley,  Milward, 
Ohapman,  and  Neal,  Mrs.  Younger,  Mrs.  Bullock,  and  Mrs.  Bu- 
chanan, formed  the  principal  niembers  of  the  company.  Gay  was 
not  now  alive  to  increase  his  own  and  Rich's  fortune  in  this  ele- 
gant and  well-appointed  theatre ;  but  Rich  produced  Gay's  opera- 
tic piece  "  Achilles,"  which  represented  the  hero  when  lying  dis- 
guised as  a  girl.  By  the  treatment  of  the  subject,  Gay  did  not 
manifest  the  innocency  to  which  he  laid  claim,  nor  show  himself 
either  in  wit  a  man,  or  in  simplicity  a  child.  Theobald's  adapta- 
tion of  Webster's  "Duchess  of  Malfy"  (Bosola,  by  Quin,  the 
Duchess,  Mrs.  Hallam),  brought  no  credit  on  "  King  Log." 
Generally,  indeed,  the  novelties  were  failures,  or  unimportant. 
The  only  incident  worth  recording  is  the  debut  of  Miss  Norsa,  as 
Polly.  But  before  greeting  new  comers,  let  us  say  a  word  or  two 
of  greater  than  they  who  have  gone — of  Wilks  dead,  and,  by  and 
by,  of  Gibber  withdrawn.  The  loss  of  such  actors  seemed  irre- 
parable ;  but  during  this  past  season  there  had  been  a  lad  among 
the  audience  at  either  house,  who  was  to  excel  them  all.  Mean- 
while, he  studied  them  deeply,  and  after  times  showed  that  the 
study  had  not  been  profitless  to  this  boy  of  sixteen,  whose  name 
was  David  Garrick. 

Quin's  most  brilliant  days  lay  between  this  period  and  the  ripen 
ing  into  manhood  of  this  ardent  boy.  Before  we  accompany  him 
through  that  time  of  triumph,  let  us  look  back  at  the  career  of 
Wilks. 


308  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ROBERT    WILKS. 

In  Mr.  Secretary  Southwell's  office,  in  Dublin,  there  sits  the 
young  son  of  one  of  the  Pursuivants  of  the  Lord  Lieutenant ;  he  is 
not  writing  a.  precis,  he  is  copying  out  the  parts  of  a  play  to  be 
acted  in  private.  His  name  is  Robert  Wilks,  and  the  wise  folk  of 
Rathfarnham,  near  Dublin,  where  he  was  born  in  1665,  shake 
their  heads  and  declare  that  he  will  come  to  no  good. 

The  prophecy  seemed  fulfilled  when  the  Irish  wars  between 
James  and  William  forced  him,  an  unwilling  volunteer,  into  the 
army  of  the  latter.  As  clerk  to  the  camp  he  is  exempt  from  mili- 
tary duty ;  but  he  tells  a  good  story,  sings  a  good  song,  and  the 
officers  take  him  for  a  very  pretty  fellow. 

Anon,  he  is  back  in  the  old  Dublin  office.  At  all  stray  leisure 
hours  he  may,  however,  be  seen  fraternizing  with  the  actors.  He 
most  aftects  one  Richards ;  he  hears  Richards  repeat  his  parts,  and 
he  speaks  the  intervening  sentences  of  the  other  characters.  This 
he  does  with  such  effect  that  Richards  swears  he  is  made  for  an 
actor,  and  the  young  Government  clerk,  fired  by  the  fame  of  Bet- 
terton,  is  eager  to  leap  from  the  stool,  which  his  father  considered 
the  basis  of  his  fortune,  and  to  don  sock  and  buskin. 

His  old  comrades  of  the  camp  were  then  about  to  vary  the  mo- 
notony of  life  at  the  Castle,  by  getting  up  a  play  to  inaugurate  the 
new  theatre,  re-opened,  like  the  Temple  of  Janus,  at  the  restora- 
tion of  peace.  Judicious  and  worthy  Ashbury  was  the  only  pro- 
fessional player.  Young  Wilks  had  privately  acted  with  him  as 
the  Coionel  in  the  "  Spanish  Friar."  Ashbury  now  offered  to  play 
lago  to  his  Othello,  and  the  officers  were  well  pleased  to  meet, 
again  with  their  old  clerk  of  the  camp.  The  tragedy  was  acted 
accordingly.  "  How  were  you  pleased  ?"  asked  Richards,  who 
thought  Wilks  took  it  as  a  pastime.  "  I  was  pleased  with  all  but 
myself,"  answered  the  Government  clerk,  who  was  thoroughly  in 
earnest. 


ROBERT   WILKS.  309 

Wilks  had  gone  through  many  months  of  prohation,  watched 
by  good  Joseph  Ashbury  and  honest  Richards,  when  one  morning 
the  latter  called  on  the  young  actor,  with  an  introductory  letter  to 
Betterton  in  his  hand.  Wilks  accepted  the  missive  with  alacrity, 
bade  farewell  to  secretaries  and  managers,  and  in  a  brief  space  of 
time  was  sailing  over  the  waters,  from  the  Pigeon  House  to  Park- 
gate, 

The  meeting  of  Wilks  and  Betterton,  in  the  graceful  costume  of 
those  days,  the  young  actor  travel-worn,  a  little  shabby,  anxious, 
and  full  of  awe  ;  the  elder  richly  attired,  kind  in  manner,  his  face 
bright  with  intellect,  and  his  figure  heightened  by  the  dignity  of 
a  lofty  nature  and  professional  triumpli,  borne  with  a  lofty  mod- 
esty, is  another  subject  for  a  painter. 

Betterton  instructed  the  stranger  as  to  the  course  he  should 
take,  and,  accordingly,  one  bright  May  morning  of  1690,  a  hand- 
some young  fellow,  with  a  slight  Irish  accent,  presented  himself  to 
Christopher  Rich  as  a  light  comedian.  He  was  a  native  of  Dublin 
county,  he  said,  had  left  a  promising  Government  clerkship,  to  try 
his  fortune  on  the  Irish  stage ;  and,  tempted  by  the  renown  of 
Betterton,  had  come  to  London  to  see  the  great  actor,  and  to  be 
engaged,  if  that  were  possible,  in  the  same  company. 

Christopher  Rich  was  no  great  judge  of  acting,  but  he  thought 
there  was  something  like  promise  of  excellence  in  the  easy  and 
gentleman-like  young  fellow ;  and  he  consented  to  engage  him  for 
Drury  Lane,  at  the  encouraging  salary  of  fifteen  shillings  a  week, 
from  which  half  a-crown  was  to  be  deducted  for  instruction  in 
dancing !  This  left  Wilks  thirteen  and  sixpence  clear  weekly  in- 
come ;  and  he  had  not  long  been  enjoying  it,  when  he  married 
Miss  Knapton,  daughter  of  the  Town  Clerk  of  Southampton. 
Young  couple  never  began  life  upon  more  modest  means ;  but 
happiness,  hard  work,  and  good  fortune  came  of  it. 

For  a  few  years,  commencing  with  1690,  Wilks  labored  unno- 
ticed, at  Drury  Lane,  by  all  save  generous  Betterton,  who,  seeing 
the  young  actor  struggling  for  fame,  with  a  small  salary  and  an 
increasing  family,  recommended  him  to  return  to  Ashbury,  the 
Dublin  manager,  who,  at  Betterton's  word,  engaged  him  at  £50 
a  year,  and  a  clear  benefit.  "  You  will  be  glad  to  have  got  him," 
said  Betterton  to  Ashbury.     "You  will  be  sorry  you  have  lost 


310  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

him,"  said  he,  to  Christopher  Rich.  Sorry !  In  three  or  four 
J  ears  more.  Rich  was  imploring  him  to  return,  and  offering  him 
Golconda,  as  salaries  were  then  understood.  But  Wilks  was  now 
the  darling  of  the  Dublin  people,  and,  at  a  later  period,  so  univer- 
sal was  the  desire  to  keep  him  amongst  them,  that  the  Duke  of 
Ormond,  Lord  Lieutenant,  issued  a  warrant  to  prohibit  his  leaving 
the  kingdom.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  £4  per  week  awaited  him 
in  London.  It  was  nearly  as  high  a  salary  as  Betterton's  !  Wilks, 
however,  caring  less  for  the  terms  than  for  the  opportunity  of 
satisfying  his  inordinate  thirst  for  fame,  contrived  to  escape,  with 
his  wife.  With  them  came  a  disappointed  actor,  soon  to  be  a 
popular  dramatist,  Farquhar;  who,  in  the  year  1699,  after  opening 
the  season  with  his  "  Love  and  a  Bottle,"  produced  his  "  Constant 
Couple,"  with  Wilks  as  Sir  Harry  Wildair.  On  the  night  of 
Wilks's  first  appearance,  in  some  lines  written  for  him  by  Farquhar, 
and  spoke  by  the  debutant^  the  latter  said : — 

"  Void  of  offence,  though  not  from  censure  free, 
I  left  a  distant  isle,  too  kind  to  me  ;" 

and  confessing  a  sort  of  supremacy  in  the  London  over  the  Dublin 
stage,  he  added : — 

"  There  I  could  please,  but  there  my  fame  must  end. 
For  hither  none  must  come  to  boast — but  mend." 

This  the  young  actor  did  apace.  Applauded  as  the  latter  had  been 
the  year  before,  in  old  parts,  the  approbation  was  as  nothing  com- 
pared with  that  lavished  on  him  in  this  his  first  original  character. 
From  the  first  recognition  of  Vizard  down  to  the  "tag"  with 
which  the  curtain  descends,  and  including  even  the  absurd  and 
unnatural  scene  with  Angelica,  he  kept  the  audience  in  a  condition 
of  intermittent  ecstasy.  The  piece  established  his  fame,  gave  a 
name  to  Norris,  the  frequently  mentioned  "  Jubilee  Dicky,"  and 
made  the  fortune  of  Rich.  It  seems  to  have  been  played  nearly 
fifty  times  in  the  first  season.  In  its  construction  and  style  it  is 
far  in  advance  of  the  comedies  of  Aphra  Behn  and  Ravenscroft ; 
and  yet  it  is  irregular ;  not  moral ;  as  often  flippant  as  witty  ;  im- 
probable, and  not  really  original.  Madam  Fickle  is  to  be  traced 
in  it,  and  the  denouement,  as  far  as  Lurewell  and  Standard  are 
concerned,  is  borrowed  from  those  of  Plautus  and  Terence. 


KOEEKT    WILKS.  311 

Wilks,  now  tlie  great  favorite  of  the  town,  justified  all  Better- 
ton's  prognostications.  Like  Betterton,  be  was  to  the  end  con- 
vinced that  he  might  become  more  perfect  by  study  and  perseve- 
rance. Taking  the  extant  score  of  judgments  recorded  of  him,  I 
find  that  Wilks  was  careful,  judicious,  painstaking  in  the  smallest 
trifles ;  in  comedy  always  brilliant,  in  tragedy  always  graceful  and 
natural.  For  zeal.  Gibber  had  not  known  his  equal  for  half-a- 
century ;  careful  himself,  he  allowed  no  one  else  to  be  negligent ; 
so  careful,  that  he  would  recite  a  thousand  lines  without  missing  a 
sintrle  word.  The  result  of  all  his  labor  was  seen  in  an  ease,  and 
grace,  and  gayety  which  seemed  perfectly  .spontaneous.  His  taste 
in  dress  was  irreproachable ;  grave  in  his  attire  in  the  streets,  on  the 
stage  he  was  the  glass  of  fashion.  On  the  stage,  even  in  his  last 
season,  after  a  career  of  forty  years,  he  never  lost  his  buoyancy,  or 
his  young  graces.  From  first  to  last  he  was  perfection  in  his 
peculiar  line.  "  Whatever  he  did  upon  the  stage,"  says  an  emi- 
nent critic,  quoted  by  Genest,  "  let  it  be  ever  so  trifling,  whether 
it  consisted  in  putting  on  his  gloves,  or  taking  out  his  watch, 
lolling  on  his  cane,  or  taking  snufi",  every  movement  was  marked 
by  such  an  ease  of  breeding  and  manner,  every  thing  told  so 
strongly  the  involuntary  motion  of  a  gentleman,  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  consider  the  character  he  represented  in  any  other  light 
than  that  of  reality  ;  but  what  was  still  more  surprising,  that  per- 
gon  who  could  thus  delight  an  audience,  from  the  gayety  and 
sprightliness  of  his  character,  I  met  the  next  day  in  a  street, 
hobbling  to  a  hackney-coach,  seemingly  so  enfeebled  by  age  and 
infirmities,  that  I  could  scarcely  believe  him  to  be  the  same 
man." 

The  grace  and  bearing  of  Wilks  were  accounted  of  as  natural 
in  a  man  whose  blood  was  not  of  the  common  tap.  "  His  father, 
Edward  Wilks,  Esq.,  was  descended  from  Judge  Wilks,  a  very 
eminent  lawyer,  and  a  gentleman  of  great  honor  and  probity. 
During  the  unhappy  scene  of  our  civil  wars  he  raised  a  troop  of 
horse,  at  his  own  expense,  for  the  service  of  his  royal  master."  A 
brother  of  the  judge  was  in  Monk's  army,  with  the  rank  of  Col- 
onel, and  with  more  of  honest  intention  than  of  common-place 
discretion.  The  civil  wars  took  many  a  good  actor  from  the 
stage,  but  they  also  contributed  the  sons  and  daughters  of  many 


312  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ancient  but  impoverished  families  to  the  foremost  rank  among 
distinguished  players.  Some  of  the  daughters  of  these  old  and 
decayed  houses  thought  it  no  disparagement  to  wed  vith  these 
players,  or  to  take  humble  office  in  the  theatre.  Wilks'  first  wife, 
Miss  Knapton,  was  the  daughter  of  the  Town  Clerk  of  Southamp- 
ton, and  Steward  of  the  New  Forest,  posts  of  trust,  and  at  one 
time,  of  emolument.  The  Knaptons  had  been  Yorkshire  land- 
holders, the  estate  being  valued  at  £2,000  a  year ;  and  now  wo 
find  one  daughter  marrying  Wilks,  a  second  espousing  Norris, 
"  Jubilee  Dicky,"  and  a  third,  Anne  Knapton,  filling  the  humble 
office  of  dresser  at  Drury  Lane,  and  probably  not  much  flattered 
by  the  legend  on  the  family  arms,  "  Meta  coronat  opus." 

The  greatest  trouble  to  Wilks,  during  the  period  he  was  in 
management,  arose  from  the  "'  ladies"  of  the  company.  There  waa 
especially  Mrs.  Rogers,  who,  on  the  retirement  of  Mrs.  Barry  and 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  played  the  principal  serious  parts.  It  was  the 
whim  of  this  lady  to  act  none  but  virtuous  characters  ;  her  pruder}' 
would  not  admit  of  her  studying  others.  In  the  epilogue  to  the 
"  Triumphs  of  Virtue,"  in  which  she  played  the  innocent  Bella- 
mira,  she  pronounced  with  great  efiect  the  lines,  addressed  to  the 
ladies,  for  whose  smiles,  she  said, 

"  I'll  pay  this  duteous  gratitude;  I'll  do 
Tliat  which  the  play  has  done ;  I'll  copy  you. 
At  your  own  virtue's  shrine  my  vows  111  pay, 
And  strive  to  live  the  character  I  play." 

In  this,  however,  she  did  not  succeed ;  but  Mrs.  Rogers  con- 
gratulated herself  by  considering  that  her  failure  saved  Wilks's  life, 
who,  when  a  widower,  protested  that  he  should  die  of  despair  if 
she  refused  to  smile  upon  him ;  but,  as  Gibber  remarks,  Mrs. 
Rogers  "  could  never  be  reduced  to  marry." 

Her  ambition  was  great,  for  she  not  only  looked  on  herself  as 
the  successor  of  Mrs.  Barry  and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  ;  but  when  the 
lively  and  graceful  Mountfort  (Mrs.  Verbruggen)  died,  in  giving 
birth  to  an  infant,  Mrs.  Rogers  aspired  to  the  succession  of  her 
parts,  also.  Wilks,  then  in  power,  preferred  Mrs.  Oldfield.  A 
public  clamor  ensued ;  but,  says  Victor,  somewhat  confusedly, 
"  Mr.  Wilks  soon  reduced  this  clamor  to  demonstration,  by  an 


ROBERT   WILKS.  313 

experiment  of  Mrs.  Oldfield  and  Mrs.  Rogers  playing  the  same 
part,  that  of  Lady  Lurewell  in  the  "  Trip  to  the  Jubilee ;'  but 
ihoiiyh  obstinacy  seldom  meets  conviction,  yet  from  this  equitable 
tr.  l1  the  tumults  in  the  house  were  soon  quelled  (by  public  author- 
ity), greatly  to  the  honor  of  Mr.  Wilks.  I  am,"  adds  the  writer, 
"  from  my  own  knowledge,  thoroughly  convinced  that  Mr.  Wilks 
had  no  other  regard  for  Mrs.  Oldfield  but  what  arose  from  the 
exr-ellency  of  her  performances.  Mrs.  Rogers's  conduct  might  be 
censured  by  some  for  the  earnestness  of  her  passion  towards  Mr. 
Wilks,  but  in  the  polite  world  the  fair  sex  has  always  been  privi- 
leged from  scandal." 

As  gi'eat  a  tumult  ensued  when  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  cast  for 
Andromache,  a  character  claimed  by  her  rival,  who,  being  refused 
by  Wilks,  "  she  raised  a  posse  of  profligates,  fond  of  tumult  and 
riot,  who  made  such  a  commotion  in  the  house,  that  the  Court 
hearing  of  it,  sent  four  of  the  royal  messengers  and  a  strong  guard 
to  suppress  all  disorder."  Gibber  laments  having  "  to  dismiss  an 
audience  of  £150,  fi-om  a  disturbance  spirited  up  by  obscure 
people,  who  never  gave  any  better  reason  for  it  than  that  it  was  their 
fancy  to  support  the  idle  complaint  of  one  rival  actress  against 
another  in  their  several  pretensions  to  the  chief  part  in  a  new 
tragedy." 

A  green-room  scene,  painted  by  Colley  Gibber,  reveals  to  us 
something  of  the  shadowy  side  of  Wilk's  character,  while  that  of 
Booth  and  Mrs.  Oldfield  stand  out,  as  it  were,  "  in  the  sun." 
Court  and  city  in  1725  had  demanded  the  revival  of  Vanbrugh's 
*'  Provoked  Wife,"  with  alterations,  to  suit  the  growing  taste  for 
refinement.  These  alterations  had  taken  something  from  the 
sprightliness  of  the  part  of  Constant,  which  Wilks  had  been  ac- 
customed to  play,  and  Gibber  proposed  to  give  it  to  Booth,  for 
whom  its  gravity  rendered  it  suitable.  W^ilks,  who  was  eager  to 
play  every  night,  at  first  looked  grave,  then  frowned ;  as  Gibber 
hinted,  that  if  he  were  to  play  in  every  piece,  a  sudden  indisposi- 
tion on  his  part  might  create  embarrassment,  he  sullenly  stirred 
the  fire ;  but  when  the  chief  manager  suggested  that  as  he  had 
accomplished  all  he  could  possibly  aim  at  in  his  profession, 
occasional  repose  would  become  him  more  than  unremitting 
bbor,  he  took  Gibber's  counsel  and  Booth's  acquiescence  for 
Vol.  I.— 14 


314  doean's  annals  of  the  stage. 

satire,  and  retorted  with  a  warmth  of  indignation  which  included 
some  strong  expletives  not  to  be  found  in  the  best  poets. 

Cibber  then  accused  him  of  inconsistency,  and  expressed  indif- 
ference whether  he  accepted  or  rejected  the  part  which  he  then 
held  in  his  hand,  and  which  Wilks  at  once  threw  down  on  the 
table  whereupon  the  angry  player  sate,  with  crossed  arms,  and 
"  knocking  his  heel  upon  the  floor,  as  seeming  to  threaten  most 
when  he  said  least,"  Booth,  good-naturedly,  struck  in  with  a 
cheerful  comment,  to  the  effect,  that  "  for  his  part,  he  saw  no  such 
great  matter  in  acting  every  day,  for  he  believed  it  the  whole- 
somest  exercise  in  the  world;  it  kept  the  spirits  in  motion,  and 
always  gave  him  a  good  stomach." 

At  this  friendly  advance  Mrs.  Oldfield  was  seen  laughing  behind 
her  fan,  while  Wilks,  after  a  few  hesitating  remarks,  which  showed 
some  little  jealousy  of  Booth,  proposed  that  Mrs.  Oldfield  should 
herself  select  which  of  the  two  she  would  have  play  with  her.  He 
would  be  glad  to  be  excused  if  she  selected  another. 

"  This  throwing  the  negative  upon  Mrs.  Oldfield,"  says  Cibber, 
"was  indeed  a  sure  way  to  save  himself;  which  I  could  not  help 
taking  notice  of,  by  saying,  it  was  making  but  an  ill  compliment 
to  the  company,  to  suppose  there  was  but  one  man  in  it  fit  to 
play  an  ordinary  part  with  her.  Here  Mrs.  Oldfield  got  up,  and 
turning  me  half  round,  to  come  forward,  said  with  her  usual  frank- 
ness, '  Pooh  !  you  are  all  a  parcel  of  fools  to  make  such  a  rout 
about  nothing !'  Rightly  judging  that  the  person  most  out  of 
humor  would  not  be  more  displeased  at  her  calling  us  all  by  the 
same  name." 

Finally,  Wilks  accepted  the  part,  at  Mrs.  Oldfield's  suggestion, 
and  all  went  well.  Irascible  as  he  was,  yet  he  was  more  remarka- 
ble for  his  zeal  and  industry,  for  the  carefulness  with  which  he 
superintended  rehearsals,  and  for  the  elaborate  pains-concealing 
labor,  which  distinguished  him  on  the  public  stage.  Cibber  ren- 
ders him  full  measure  of  justice  in  this  respect,  and  generously 
confesses :  "  Had  /  had  half  his  application  I  still  think  I  might 
have  shown  myself  twice  the  actor  that,  in  my  highest  state  of 
favor,  I  appeared  to  be." 

Cibber,  indeed,  has  painted  his  colleague  Wilks  with  great 
elaboration.     From  Colley  we  learn  that  Wilks  excelled  Powell, 


ROBERT   WILKS.  315 

and  that  hot-headed  Powell  challenged  him  to  the  duello  in  con- 
sequence. So  painstaking  was  the  young  Irishman,  that  in  forty 
years  he  was  never  once  forgetful  of  a  single  word  in  any  of  his 
parts.  "  In  some  new  comedy  he  happened  to  complain  of  a 
crabbed  speech  in  his  part  which,  he  said,  gave  him  more  trouble 
to  study  than  all  the  rest  of  it  had  done."  The  good-natured 
author  cut  the  whole  of  the  speech  out ;  but  "  Wilks  thought  it 
such  an  indignity  to  his  memory  that  any  thing  should  be  thought 
too  hard  for  it,  that  he  actually  made  himself  perfect  in  that 
speech,  though  he  knew  it  was  never  to  be  made  use  of."  Gibber 
praises  his  sober  character,  but  hints  at  his  professional  conceit, 
and  somewhat  overbearing  temper ;  and  he  calls  him  "  bustle 
master- general  of  the  company."  If  he  was  jealous  and  impa- 
tient, "  to  be  employed  on  the  stage  was  the  delight  of  his  life  ;" 
and  of  his  unwearied  zeal,  unselfishly  exercised  for  the  general 
good,  Gibber  cannot  speak  too  highly.  Nothing  came  amiss  to 
Wilks,  that  was  connected  with  the  stage.  He  even  undertook 
the  office  of  writing  the  bills  of  performance  ;  but  he  charged  £50 
a  year  for  the  trouble. 

In  the  plaintive  and  tender,  this  light  comedian  excelled  even 
Booth,  who  used  to  say  that  Wilks  lacked  ear  and  not  voice  to 
make  a  great  tragedian. 

Wilks's  greatest  successes  were  in  his  friend  Farquhar's  heroes, 
— Sir  Harry  Wildair,  Mirabel,  Gaptain  Plume,  and  Archer.  He 
played  equally  well,  but  with  less  opportunity  for  distinction,  the 
light  gentlemen  of  Gibber's  comedies.  In  Don  Felix,  in  Mrs, 
Centlivre's  "  Wonder,"  he  almost  excelled  the  reputation  he  had 
gained  in  Sir  Harry.  "  When  Wilks  dies,"  Farquhar  once  re- 
marked, "  Sir  Harry  may  go  to  the  Jubilee."  Of  the  above  char- 
acters, he  was  the  original  representative,  as  he  was  of  some  four- 
score others  of  less  note, — among  them  Dumont,  in  "  Jane  Shore," 
for  which  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  cast  by  Mrs.  Oldfield. 
"  Nay  !"  she  cried  to  him,  in  her  pretty  way ;  "  if  you  will  not  be 
my  husband,  I  will  act  Alicia,  I  protest."  And  accordingly,  the 
two  most  brilliant  and  gleesome  actors  of  their  day,  enacted  mar- 
ried tribulation,  and  kept  their  wreathed  smiles  for  the  crowd 
which  clustered  round  them  at  the  wings. 

Few  men  ever  loved  acting  for  acting's  sake  more  than  Wilks. 


316  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

At  the  same  time,  no  one  ever  warned  others  against  ifc,  with  more 
serious  urgency.  He  had  a  nephew,  who  was  in  fair  prospect  of 
such  good  fortune  as  could  be  built  up  in  an  attorney's  office. 
How  little  the  young  fcUuw  merited  the  fortune,  and  how  ill  he 
understood  the  duties  and  advantages  of  attorneyship  he  mani- 
fested fully,  by  a  madness  for  appearing  on  the  stage.  No  counsel 
availed  against  his  resolution;  and,  in  I7l4,  Wilks  dispatched 
him  to  Dublin,  with  a  letter  to  Ashbury,  the  manager.  "  He  was 
bred  an  attorney,"  wrote  the  uncle,  despondlngly,  "but  is  unhap- 
pily fallen  in  love  with  that  fickle  mistress,  the  stage ;  and  no 
arguments  can  dissuade  him  from  it.  I  have  refused  to  give  him 
any  countenance,  in  hopes  that  time  and  experience  might  cure 
him ;  but  since  I  find  him  determined  to  make  an  attempt,  some- 
where, no  one,  I  am  sure,  is  able  to  give  him  so  just  a  notion  of 
the  business  as  yourself.  If  you  find  my  nephew  wants  either 
geniufe  or  any  other  necessary  qualification,  I  beg  you  will  freely 
tell  him  his  disabilities',  and  then  it  is  possible  he  may  be  more 
easily  persuaded  to  return  to  his  friends  and  business,  which  I  am 
informed  he  understands  perfectly  well." 

Young  Wilks  proved  as  poor  an  actor  as  he  probably  was  an 
attorney ;  but  his  uncle  received  him  at  Drury  Lane,  after  a  year's 
novitiate  in  Dublin,  where  he  played,  at  first,  better  "  business" 
than  Quin  himself.  But  he  never  advanced  a  step,  and  died  at 
the  age  of  thirty,  having  never  obtained  above  that  number  of 
shillings  a  week.  And  for  that,  he  deserted  his  vocation  as  an 
attorney,  in  the  practice  of  which  he  might  have  gained,  if  not 
earned,  at  a  low  estimate,  twice  that  amount  in  a  single  morning. 

There  was  a  pious  young  Duke  of  Orleans,  who,  to  keep  a  fair 
character,  was  obliged  to  assume  the  fashionable  vices  of  his  day. 
Wilks,  with  all  his  love  of  home,  was  a  fine  gentleman  among  the 
fine  gentlemen.  His  appreciation  of  matrimony  was  shown  by 
the  haste  with  which  he  espoused  the  widow  Fell,  daughter  of 
Charles  H.'s  great  gun-founder,  Browne,  in  April,  1715,  after  losing 
his  first  wife  in  the  previous  year.  Daring  the  first  union,  he  nuist 
have  trod  the  stage  with  many  a  heart-ache,  while  he  was  exciting 
hilarity,  for  eleven  of  his  children  died  early,  and  the  airy  player 
was  forever  in  mourning.  His  step-son.  Fell,  married  the  grand- 
daughter of  William  Penn,  and  brought  his  bride  to  the  altar  of 


ROBERT   WILKS.  317 

St.  Paul's,  Covent  Garden,  not  to  be  married,  but  christened. 
Wilks  and  his  wife  were  the  gossips  to  the  pretty  Quakeress ;  and 
the  former,  probably,  never  looked  more  imposing  than  when  he 
pronounced  the  names  of  the  fair  Episcopalian, —  GuUelma 
Maria. 

Betterton  used  to  rusticate  in  Berkshire ;  Booth,  at  Cowley ; 
Gibber,  at  Twickenham ;  his  son,  at  Brook  Green.  Wilks,  too, 
had  his  villa,  at  Isleworth.  He  is  said  to  have  kept  a  well-regu- 
lated and  cheerful  home.  He  had  there  seen  so  much  of  death, 
that  we  are  told  he  was  always  prepared  to  meet  it  with  decency. 
His  generosity  amounted  almost  to  prodigality.  "  Few  Irish 
gentlemen,"  says  his  biographer,  "are  without  indigent  relatives." 
Wilks  had  many,  and  they  never  appealed  to  him  in  vain.  He 
died,  after  a  short  illness  and  four  doctors,  in  September,  1732, 
leaving  his  share  in  the  Drury  Lane  Patent,  and  what  other  pro- 
perty he  possessed,  to  his  wife.  Throughout  his  life,  I  can  only 
find  one  symptom  of  regret  at  having  abandoned  the  Irish  Secre- 
tary's office  for  the  stage.  "My  successor  in  Ireland,"  he  once 
said  to  Gibber,  "  made  by  his  post  £50,000." 

Exceeding  benevolence  is  finely  exhibited  in  an  incident  con- 
nected with  Farquhar.  When  the  latter  was  near  the  end  of  his  gay 
yet  checkered  career,  in  1707, — death,  the  glory  of  his  last  suc- 
cess, and  the  thought  of  his  children,  pressing  hard  upon  him, — 
he  wrote  this  laconic,  but  perfectly  intelligible,  note  to  Wilks : — 

"  Dear  Bob, — I  have  not  any  thing  to  leave  thee,  to  perpetuate 
my  memory,  but  two  helpless  girls ;  look  upon  them,  sometimes ; 
and  think  of  him  that  was,  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life, — 

"  George  Farquhar." 

Farquhar's  confidence  in  his  friend  was  like  that  of  La  Fontaine, 
who,  having  lost  a  home,  was  met  in  the  street  by  a  friend  who 
invited  him  to  his.  "I  was  going  there!"  said  the  simple-minded 
poet.     Wilks  did  not  disappoint  Farquhar's  expectations. 

Wilks  could  be  as  modest  as  he  was  generous.  After  playing, 
for  the  first  time,  the  Ghost  to  Booth's  Hamlet,  the  latter  re- 
marked,— "Why,  Bob,  I  thought  you  were  going  to  knock  me 
down.  When  I  played  the  Ghost  to  Mr.  Betterton's  Hamlet 
awe-stricken  as  he  seemed,  I  was  still  more  so  of  him.'' 


318  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"  Mr.  Betterton  and  Mr.  Booth,"  said  Wilks, — "  noble  actors, 
could  always  play  as  they  pleased.  I  can  only  play  to  the  best 
of  my  ability." 

Once  only  do  I  find  Wilks  in  close  connection  with  royalty, — 
namely,  when  he  took,  by  command,  the  manuscript  of  "  George 
Barnwell"  to  St.  James's,  and  read  that  lively  tragedy  to  Queen 
Anne.  On  some  like  occasion,  King  William  once  presented 
Booth  with  five  pounds  for  his  reward,  but  history  does  not  note 
the  guerdon  with  which  Wilks  retired  from  the  presence  of 
«  Great  Anna  1" 


ENTER,    GARRICK.  '         319 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


ENTER,    GARRICK. 


Great  was  the  confusion  in,  and  small  the  prosperity  of,  the 
theatres  after  the  death  of  Wilks,  and  withdrawal  of  Gibber. 
Highmore,  now  chief  patentee,  opened  Drury ;  but  Theophilus 
Gibber,  with  all  the  principal  Drury  Lane  performers,  except  Mrs. 
Glive  (for  Miss  Raftor  was  now  the  wife  of  Judge  Glive's  brother), 
Mrs.  Horton,  and  Mrs.  Bridgewater,  opened  the  Haymarket 
against  him,  under  the  title  of  "  Gomedians  of  His  Majesty's 
Revels."  Highmore  had  recourse  to  the  law  to  keep  the  seceders 
to  their  engagements,  and  Harper,  a  deserter  to  the  Haymarket, 
was  prosecuted  as  a  stroller ;  but  the  law  acquitted  him,  after 
solemn  discussion.  Highmore's  chief  actor  was  Macklin,  who  first 
appeared  as  Captain  Brazen,  Gibber's  old  part  in  the  "  Recruiting 
Officer,"  and  he  subsequently  played  Marplot,  Clodio,  Teague, 
Brass,  and  similar  characters,  with  success  ;  but  he  was  cast  aside 
when  the  companies  became  reconciled. 

There  was  no  other  actor  of  note  in  the  Drury  Lane  company, 
where  good  actresses  were  not  wanting.  Mrs.  Clive  alone  fur- 
nished perpetual  sunshine,  and  Mrs.  Horton  warmed  the  thin  houses 
by  the  glow  of  her  beauty.  No  piece  of  permanent  merit  was 
produced,  and,  sad  change  in  the  Drury  Lane  annals,  the  patentee 
was  at  a  heavy  weekly  loss. 

On  the  first  night  that  the  seceders  opened  the  Haymarket, 
21st  September,  1733,  with  "Love  for  Love,"  Mrs.  Pritchard 
played  Nell,  in  the  after-piece  ("  Devil  to  Pay").  The  Daily  Post 
had  already  extolled  the  "  dawning  excellence"  she  had  exhibited 
m  a  booth,  and  prophesied  that  she  would  charm  the  age.  She 
played  light  comic  parts  throughout  the  season ;  but  her  powers 
as  a  tragedian  do  not  seem  to  have  been  suspected.  Mrs.  Prit- 
chard thus  entered  on  her  long  and  honorable  career,  a  married 
woman,  with  a  large  family,  and  an  excellent  character,  which  she 


320  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

never  tarnished.  ("Jibber's  daughter,  Mrs.  Charke,  played  a  round 
of  male  parts  during  the  same  season,  Roderigo,  in  "  Othello," 
being  one  of  them.  In  the  March  of  1734,  the  seceders  closed 
the  Haymarket,  and  joined  the  wreck  of  the  old  company  at  Drury 
Lane,  on  which  Mrs.  Pritchard,  like  Macklin,  was  laid  aside  for  a 
time.  But  while  those  eminent  players  were  "under  a  cloud," 
there  appeared  Miss  Arne,  whose  voice  charmed  all  hearers,  whose 
beauty  subdued  Theophilus  Gibber,  but  who  was  not  yet  recog- 
nized as  the  tragic  actress,  between  whom  and  Mrs.  Pritchard, 
and  Mrs.  Yates,  critics,  and  the  town  generally,  were  to  go  mad 
with  disputation. 

Meantime,  no  new  drama  was  produced  at  Covent  Garden, 
which  lived  in  the  public  memory  a  month ;  but  Quin  shed  a  glory 
on  the  house,  and  quite  eclipsed  the  careful,  but  heavy  and  decay- 
ing actor.  Mills,  who  aspired  to  the  parts  which  Booth's  death  had 
left  unappropriated.  In  Macbeth  and  Othello,  Thersites,  Cato, 
Apemantus,  and  Gonzales,  in  the  "  Mourning  Bride,"  he  had  at 
least  no  living  rival.  The  contest  for  superiority  had  commenced 
before  Booth's  death ;  but  Mills  was  never  a  match  for  Quin,  and 
his  name  has  not  been  preserved  among  us  as  that  of  a  great 
actor. 

As  it  is  otherwise  with  Quin,  let  us  recapitulate  some  details  of 
his  previous  career,  before  we  accompany  him  over  that  period 
which  he  filled  so  creditably,  till  he  was  rudely  shaken  by  the 
coming  of  Garrick. 

The  father  of  James  Quin  was  a  barrister,  of  a  good  Irish  family, 
and  at  one  time  resided  in  King  Street,  Covent  Garden,  where 
James  was  born  in  1693.  Mrs.  Quin  happened  to  be  the  wife  of 
two  husbands.  The  first,  who  had  abandoned  her,  and  who,  after 
years  of  absence,  was  supposed  to  be  dead,  re-appeared  after 
Quin's  birth,  and  carried  off  the  boy's  mother  as  his  own  lawful 
wife.  Thereby,  the  boy  himself  was  deprived  of  his  inheritance; 
the  Quin  property,  which  was  considerable,  passed  to  the  heir  at 
law,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  the  young  man,  intelligent  but 
uneducated,  his  illusions  of  being  a  squireen  in  Ireland  being  all 
dissipated,  and  being  specially  fitted  for  no  vocation,  went  at  once 
upon  the  stage.  His  time  of  probation  was  first  spent  on  the 
Dublin  boards,  in  1714,  where  he  played  very  small  paits  with 


ENTER,    GARRIOK.  321 

such  great  propriety,  that  in  the  following  year,  on  the  recommen- 
dation of  Chetwood,  the  prompter,  he  was  received,  still  as  a  pro- 
bationer, into  the  company  then  acting  at  Driiry  Lane.  Booth, 
Gibber,  Mills,  and  Wilks  were  the  chief  players  at  that  theatre, 
and  the  young  actor  was  at  least  among  noble  professors.  Among, 
but  not  of  them,  he  remained  for  at  least  two  seasons,  acting  the 
walking  gentlemen,  and  fulfilling  "general  utility,"  without  a 
chance  of  reaching  a  higher  rank.  One  night,  however,  in  1716, 
when  the  run  of  the  revived  "  Tamerlane"  was  threatened  with  in- 
terruption by  the  sudden  illness  of  the  most  ferocious  of  Bajazets, 
Quin  was  induced,  most  reluctantly,  on  the  foolish  fellow's  side,  to 
read  the  part.  In  doing  this  with  conscientiousness  and  judg- 
ment, he  received  such  testimonials  of  approval,  that  he  made 
himself  master  of  the  words  by  the  following  night,  and  when  the 
curtain  fell,  found  himself  famous.  The  critics  in  the  pit,  and  the 
fine  gentlemen  who  hung  about  the  stage,  united  in  acknowledg- 
ing his  merits;  the  coffee-houses  tossed  his  name  about  pleasantly 
as  a  novelty,  and  Mr.  Mills  paid  him  the  compliment  of  speedily 
getting  well. 

When  Mr.  Mills  resumed  Bajazet,  young  Quin  sank  down  to  the 
Dervise ;  and  though,  subsequently,  his  cast  of  characters  was  im- 
proved, his  patience  was  so  severely  tried,  that  in  the  succeeding 
season  he  passed  over  to  the  theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Mod- 
estly entering  there  in  the  part  of  Benducar,  in  "  Don  Sebastian," 
he  at  once  established  himself  in  the  public  favor,  and  before  the 
close  of  the  season  1718-19,  the  chivalry  of  his  Hotspur,  the 
bluntness  of  his  Clytus,  the  fire  of  his  Bajazet,  the  grandeur  of  his 
Macbeth,  the  calm  dignity  of  his  Brutus,  the  unctuousness  of  his 
FalstafF,  the  duplicity  of  his  Maskwell,  and  the  coarse  comedy  of 
his  Sir  John  Brute,  were  circumstances  of  which  the  town  talked 
quite  as  eagerly  as  they  did  of  the  Quadruple  Alliance,  and  the 
musket-shot  which  had  slain  the  royal  Swede  in  the  trenches  be- 
fore Frederickshall. 

It  was  Quin's  success  in  Bajazet  at  Drury  Lane  that  really  cost 
Bowen  his  life.  I  have  noticed  the  subject  before,  but  it  will  ad- 
mit of  some  further  detail.  Bowen  had  taunted  Quin  with  being 
tame  in  Bajazet,  and  Quin  retorted  by  speaking  disparagingly  of 
Bowen  in  Jacomo,  in  the  "  Libertine,"  preferring  Johnson  in  that 
14* 


322  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

part  Bowen  was  the  more  deeply  stung,  as  he  prided  himself  on 
his  acting  in  Jacomo,  and  the  company  agreed  with  the  adverse 
critic.  The  quarrel,  commenced  by  envy,  was  aggravated  by  poli- 
tics. Bowen  boasted  of  his  honesty  and  consistency,  a  boast,  the 
worthlessness  of  which  was  speedily  shown  by  Quin's  remark,  that 
Bowen  had  as  often  drunk  the  Duke  of  Ormond's  health  as  he 
had  refused  it.  The  disputants  parted  angrily,  only  to  meet  more 
incensed.  They  met,  on  the  invitation  of  Bowen,  and  passed 
from  one  tavern  to  another,  till  they  could  find  a  room  which  less 
suited  Quin's  purpose  than  that  of  his  irate  companion — that  of 
"  fighting  it  out."  Indeed,  the  younger  player  seems  to  have  been 
hardly  aware  of  his  elder's  definite  purpose  ;  for  when  they  entered 
the  room  Bowen  fastened  the  door,  clapped  his  back  to  it,  drew 
his  sword,  and  threatened  to  run  Quin  through  the  body,  if  he  did 
not  out  with  his  rapier  and  defend  himself.  Remonstrance  fi'om 
the  latter  was  of  no  avail,  and  he  drew,  simply  to  keep  Bowen  off. 
But  the  latter  impetuously  pressed  forward  till  he  ultimately  fell, 
mortally  wounded.  Before  his  death,  however,  which  occurred 
within  three  days,  he  justly  and  generously  took  the  blame  of  the 
whole  transaction  upon  himself.  This,  with  corroborative  evi- 
dence, secured  the  acquittal  of  Quin,  on  his  trial  for  manslaughter. 
So  died  poor,  foolish  Bowen,  at  the  age  of  fifty-two,  leaving  a 
widow,  for  whom  the  public  had  not  sufficient  sympathy  to  render 
her  "  benefit"  profitable,  and  a  son,  known  in  the  London  streets  as 
"  Rugged-and-tough,"  and  whose  exploits,  recorded  in  the  Old 
Bailey  Calendar,  sent  him  to  the  colonies,  to  found  in  another 
hemisphere  a  line  of  Bowens  more  honest  and  less  angry  than  the 
latter  scions  of  the  race  in  England. 

This  was  a  transition  period,  terminated  by  the  coming  of 
Garrick.  Quin  passed  over  to  Drury  Lane,  tempted  by  the  annual 
£500  offered  by  Fleetwood,  a  wealthy  personage,  who  had  pur- 
chased the  chief  share  in  the  patent.  "  No  actor,"  said  Rich,  "  is 
worth  more  than  £300  a  year,"  and  declining  to  retain  Quin  at 
the  additional  requirea  outlay,  he  brought  forward  a  "  citizen," 
named  Stephens,  to  oppose  him.  Stephens  had  caught  the  exact 
sound  of  Booth's  cadences  and  much  of  his  manner.  For  a  time, 
audiences  were  delighted,  but  the  magic  of  mere  imitation  soon 
ceased  to  attract ;  and  Quin  decidedly  led  the  town  in  old  charao- 


ENTER,    GARRICK.  323 

ters,  but  with  no  opportunity  yet  offered  him  of  a  "  creation." 
Mrs.  Clive  enchanted  her  hearers  at  Drury  Lane,  while  Mrs.  Hor- 
ton  took  her  beauty  and  happy  assurance  to  Covent  Garden.  A 
greater  than  either,  Mrs.  Pritchard,  plnyed  mere  walking  hidies,  and 
made  no  step  in  advance  till  1735,  when  she  acted  Lady  Townley 
at  the  Haymarket.  Old  Gibber,  longing  again  for  a  smell  of  the 
lamps,  and  a  sound  of  applause,  played  a  few  of  his  best  parts 
dui'ing  this  season,  and  Macklin  slowly  made  progress  according 
to  rare  opportunity.  Govent  Garden  chiefly  depended  on  Ryan  ; 
but  suddenly  lost  his  services  when  they  could  be  least  spared. 
He  was  returning  home,  on  the  15th  of  March,  1735,  when  he  was 
shot  by  a  ruffian  in  Queen  Street,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  who  robbed 
him  of  his  sword.  "  Friend,"  said  the  generous  actor,  who  was 
badly  wounded  in  the  face  and  jawbone,  "  you  have  killed  me ; 
but  I  forgive  you  !"  In  about  six  weeks,  however,  lie  w;xs  sufficiently 
recovered  to  appear  again,  after  a  general  sympathy  had  been 
shown  him,  from  the  Prince  of  Wales  down  to  the  gallery  visi- 
tors. 

Drury  Lane,  too,  lost,  but  altogether,  a  useful  actor,  Hallam. 
He  and  Macklin  had  quarrelled  about  a  theatrical  wig,  and  im- 
petuous Macklin,  raising  his  stick,  thrust  with  it,  in  such  blind 
fury,  that  it  penetrated  through  Hallam's  eye  to  the  brain,  and 
the  unfortunate  player  died  the  next  day.  An  old  Bailey  jury  let 
the  rasher,  but  grief-stricken,  man,  lightly  off  under  a  verdict  of 
"  Manslaughter." 

From  being  a  Queen  of  Song,  Mrs.  Gibber,  the  second  wife  of 
Thoophilus,  first  took  ground  as  an  actress  this  season,  at  Drury 
Lane,  in  Aaron  Hill's  adaptation  of  Voltaire's  "  Zara."  Mrs.  Gib- 
ber was  the  sister  of  Dr.  Thomas  Arne,  the  composer  of  "  Arta- 
xerxes,"  and  daughter  of  an  upholsterer  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Covent  Garden.  Handel  thought  so  well  of  her  that  he  arranged 
one  of  his  airs  in  the  "  Messiah"  expressly  to  suit  her  voice.  Her 
tmbition,  however,  was  to  be  a  tragic  actress,  and  GoUey  Gibber, 
who  had  sternly  opposed  her  marriage  with  his  son,  overcome  by 
her  winning  ways,  not  only  was  reconciled  to  her,  but  instructed 
her  in  her  study  for  Zara,  and  some  part  of  her  success  was  owing 
to  so  accomplished  a  teaclier. 

Milward  played  Lusignan,  a  part  in  acting  which  a  young  actor. 


324  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

named  Bond,  overcome  by  liis  feelings,  died  on  the  stage,  while 
blessing  his  children.  This  occurred  at  a  private  theatre,  in 
Great  Villiers  Street,  where  the  tragedy  was  represented,  by  sanc- 
tion of  the  author,  or,  as  Read  would  have  it,  of  the  stealer  of  it 
from  Voltaire.  Bond  was  not  the  only  actor  who  died  in  harness 
this  year.  Obese  Hulett,  rival  of  Quin,  in  Falstaff,  proud  of  th« 
strength  of  his  lungs,  which  he  was  forever  exercising  to  the  terror 
of  those  who  suddenly  experienced  it,  in  making  some  extraordi- 
nary effort  of  this  sort,  broke  a  blood-vessel,  and  straightway  died, 
when  only  thirty-five  j'^ears  of  age  ;  and  he  was  buried  at  the  ex 
pense  of  his  stage-manager,  Giffard,  who  rented  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 
for  a  while,  of  Rich. 

The  success  of  Mrs.  Gibber  stirred  Rich  at  Govent  Garden,  and 
when  she  acted  Ilermione,  the  old  but  able  Mrs.  Porter  played 
the  part  against  her,  at  the  latter  house,  as  she  also  did  Zara.  Mrs. 
Ilorton  was  opposed  to  her  in  the  part  of  Jane  Shore.  In  high 
comedy,  Mrs.  Gibber  attempted  Indiana,  in  the  "  Gonscious  Lovers," 
and  forthwith  Govent  Garden  put  up  the  same  piece.  But  the 
latter  house  was  inferior  in  its  company ;  there  was  no  one  there 
to  shed  sunshine  like  Mrs.  Glive.  Delane  and  Walker  together 
were  not  equal  to  Quin.  Of  novelty,  Govent  Garden  produced 
nothing.  Giftard's  young  troop,  on  the  other  hand,  in  the  east, 
and  afterwards  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  produced  much  that  was 
worthless,  not  excepting  another  levy  on  Voltaire  by  Hill,  in  his 
"  Alzira."  Indeed,  the  new  authors  of  this  period  were  more 
remarkable  than  their  pieces.  Mrs.  Gooper,  now  forgotten,  was  the 
widow  of  an  auctioneer ;  and  Stirling,  author  of  the  "  Parricide," 
is,  perhaps,  better  remembered  in  Maryland,  where  he  was  a 
"  popular  parson,"  than  he  is  here.  What  is  known  of  him 
here,  indeed,  is  not  favorable.  When  he  and  Goncanen  camo 
together  from  Ireland,  to  live  by  their  pens,  as  political  writers,  they 
tossed  up  as  to  the  "  side"  they  should  take.  As  it  fell  to  Gon- 
canen to  support,  and  to  Stirling  to  abuse  the  ministry,  the  formei 
was  enabled  to  acquire  an  ample  fortune  as  Attorney-General  oi 
Jamaica,  his  seventeen  years'  tenure  of  which,  Matthew  owed  to 
the  appreciation  of  him  by  the  Duke  of  Newcastle.  But  Matthew 
was  a  wit,  and  a  gentlemanlike  fellow  ;  whereas  the  Rev.  Jack 
Stirling,  whose  "  Parricide"  ^as  hissed  at  Goodman's  Fields,  was 


ENTER,    GARKICK.  325 

an    unsuccessful   parson,   who  did  very   well  for   a   transatlantic 
minister. 

The  Haymarket  was  open  in  the  spring  and  summer  of  1736, 
under  Fielding,  with  his  "  Grand  Mogul's  Company  of  Comedians." 
Fielding,  greatly  improved  by  many  failures,  found  the  town  in 
laughter;  and  Lillo  drowned  it  in  tears.  At  "  Pasquin,"  that  hot, 
fierce,  hard-hitting,  mirth-moving  satire,  London  "screamed," 
night  after  night,  for  nearly  two  months ;  and  at  the  "  Fatal  Cu- 
riosity," that  most  heart-rending  of  domestic  dramas,  the  same 
Loudon  wept  as  if  it  had  the  tenderest  feelings  in  the  world.  In 
it  Cibber's  daughter,  erratic  Mrs,  Charke,  condescended  to  play  a 
female  part ;  and  Davies,  the  bookseller  and  dramatic  historian, 
the  part  of  her  son,  young  Wilmot.  By  such  means  and  appli- 
ances did  the  stage  support  itself  through  this  year,  in  which  Mrs. 
Pritchard  is  seldom  heard  of,  and  Yates  and  Woodward  are  only 
giving  promise  of  the  Sir  Bashful  Constant  and  Mercutio,  to 
come. 

And  now  we  reach  1736-7,  with  Quin  especially  eminent  in 
Shakspeare's  characters,  Mrs.  Cibbei-,  stirring  the  town  as  Statira 
Monimia,  or  Belvidera,  and  Mrs.  Clive — who  had  quarrelled  with 
her  as  to  the  right  to  play  PoUy — beaming  like  sunshine  through 
operatic  farce  and  rattling  comedy,  as  gayly  as  if  her  bi'ow  had 
never  known  a  frown. 

The  old  colleague  of  Quin, — Mills  (the  original  representative 
of  characters  so  opposite  as  Zanga  and  Aim  well,  Py  lades  and  Col- 
onel Briton),  died  all  but  on  the  stage,  which  lost  in  him  a  heavy 
"utility,"  whose  will  was  better  than  his  execution.  A  lady 
"  utility,"  too,  withdrew  after  this  season, — Mrs.  Thurmond,  the 
original  representative,  also,  of  opposite  characters,  to  wit — Myris. 
in  Young's  "  Busiris,"  and  Lady  Wronghead. 

The  same  Drury  to  which  these  were  lost,  gained  this  season  a 
new  author,  in  the  person  of  Dodsley, — whose  life  is  comprised  in 
the  words, — footman,  poet,  bookseller,  honest  man.  As  yet,  he 
is  only  at  the  second  step, — a  poor  poet ;  when  he  published  books 
instead  of  writing  them,  he  became  a  wealthy,  but  remained,  as 
ever,  a  worthy  fellow.  It  is  due  to  this  ex-lackey  to  say,  that  in 
his  satirical  piece,  the  "  Toy-Shop,"  and  in  his  hearty  little  drama, 
the  "  King  and  the  Miller  of  Mansfield,"  both  helped  towards  the 


326  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

stage  by  Pope,  Dodsley  gave  wholesome  food  to  satisfy  the  public 
appetite ;  and  the  man  who  had  not  long  before  stripped  off  a 
livery,  showed  more  respect  for  decency  than  any  wit  or  gallant 
of  them  all. 

He  was  the  only  successful  author  of  the  season  at  Drur)\  The 
Rov.  Mr.  Miller  broke  a  commandment,  in  his  "  Universal  Pas- 
sion,"— stolen  from  Shakspeare  and  Moliere ;  and  classical  Mr. 
Cooke  manifested  no  humor  in  converting  Terence's  "  Eunuchus," 
into  a  satirical  farce,  the  "  Eunuch,  or  the  Derby  Captain," — 
levelled  at  those  English  emereti  whose  regiments  were  disbanded 
after  the  peace  of  Utrecht,  and  who  sipped  their  Derbyshire  ale 
at  a  famous  tavern  in  Covent  Garden. 

The  chief  incident  before  the  curtain  was  a  riot,  caused  by  the 
footmen  who  had  been  excluded  from  their  gallery,  on  the  night 
of  Macklin's  bencfit,-5th  May,  1737.  But  of  this  incident  I  shall 
speak  in  another  page.  Of  Mrs.  Pritchard  there  is  barely  an  ap- 
pearance ;  her  great  opportunity  had  not  yet  arrived. 

At  Covent  Garden  there  was  no  new  piece,  but  something  bet- 
ter,— a  revival  of  Shakspeare's  "  King  John,"  in  which  Delane 
played  the  King,  and  Walker,  Falconbridge, — a  character  for 
which  he  was  personally  and  intellectually  fitted,  and  in  which,  as 
in  Hotspur,  he  gained  more  laurels  than  he  ever  acquired  by  his 
Macheath. 

They  who  pursued  novelty  might  find  it  with  Giffard's  company, 
playing  at  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  where,  however,  the  only  suc- 
cessful piece  was  "  King  Charles  I.,"  a  tragedy  by  Havard,  a  young 
actor,  already  known  by  his  "  Scanderbeg,"  and  who  succeeded 
to  the  place  left  vacant  by  Mills.  Giffard  played  Charles,  a  char- 
acter which  is  rather  exaggerated  by  the  author,  who  acted  Juxon. 
Chesterfield  said,  in  reference  to  this  piece,  that  "  the  catastrophe 
was  too  recent,  too  melancholy,  and  of  too  solemn  a  nature  to  be 
lieard  of  anywhere,  but  in  the  pulpit."  However  this  may  be,  the 
way  in  which  the  tragedy  was  composed  was  anything  but  solemn. 
Desultory  Havard  had  been  commissioned  by  Giftard  to  write  the 
piece.  It  was  done  to  order,  and  under  constraint ;  for  the  pa- 
tron locked  up  the  poet  in  a  garret,  near  Lincoln's  Inn,  during  a 
cei-tam  number  of  hours,  daily,  from  which  he  was  not  suffered  to 
emerge  till  he  had  repeated,  from  behind  the  door,  to  Giffard,  who 


ENTEK,  GARRICK.  327 

was  on  the  landing,  a  certain  number  of  newly-written  lines,  —till 
the  whole  was  completed,  when  the  poet  became  free. 

At  the  Ilaymarket,  Fielding  and  satire  reigned,  but  not  supreme, 
— for  his  pieces  were  as  often  hissed  as  applauded ;  but  the  politi- 
cal allusions  in  "  Tumbledown  Dick,  or  Pha3ton  in  the  Suds," 
pleased,  and  those  in  the  "Historical  Register,  for  1736,"  made 
the  audience  laugh,  and  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  satirised  as  Quidnunc, 
wince.  The  government  had  for  some  time  contemplated  a  i-e- 
striction  of  the  license  of  the  stage.  Hitherto,  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain could  stop  a  play  in  its  career.  It  was  now  proposed  to 
establish  a  licenser,  according  to  whose  report  the  Chamberlain 
might  prohibit  the  play  from  entering  on  a  career  at  all.  The 
proposal  arose  out  of  an  officious  act  of  GifFard's,  who  took  the 
manuscript  of  a  satirical  piece,  called  the  "  Golden  Rump,"  to  the 
minister,  at  which  piece  the  latter  was  so  shocked,  that  the  bill  for 
gagging  the  stage  was  at  once  proceeded  with. 

It  was  indecorously  hurried  through  the  Commons  and  tossed 
to  the  Lords,  at  the  close  of  the  session  of  1737.  There  it  met 
the  sturdy  opposition  of  Chesterfield.  He  looked  upon  the  bill 
as  an  attempt,  through  restraining  the  license  of  the  stage,  to 
destroy  the  liberty  of  the  press;  for  what  was  seditious  to  act,  it 
would  be  seditious  to  print.  And  if  the  printing  of  a  play  could 
be  stopped,  there  would  soon  be  a  gag  on  pamphlets  and  other 
works. 

The  very  act  of  Giftard  showed  that  the  players  were  anxious 
not  to  come  in  collision  with  government ;  and  the  existing  laws 
could  be  applied  against  them  if  they  offended.  But  those  laws 
were  not  applied,  or  Mr.  Fielding  would  have  been  punished  for 
his  "  Pasquin,"  wherein  the  three  great  professions — religion, 
physic  and  law — were  represented  as  inconsistent  with  common 
sense.  Chesterfield  thought  that  the  same  law  might  liave  been 
put  in  force  against  Havard,  for  his  "  King  Charles  I." 

If  ministers  dreaded  satire  or  censure,  all  they  had  to  do,  was  so 
to  act  as  not  to  desei-ve  it.  If  they  deserved  it,  it  would  be  as  easy 
to  turn  passages  of  old  plays  against  them,  as  to  make  them,  in 
new.  When  the  Roman  actor,  Diphilis,  altered  the  words 
"  Nostra  raiseria  tu  es  magnus  !" — a  phrase  from  an  old  play — the 
eyes  of  the  audience  were  turned  on  Pompcius  Magnus,  who  was 


328  doran's  anxals  of  the  stage. 

present ;  and  the  speaker  was  made  to  repeat  the  phrase  a  hun- 
dred times.  Augustus,  indeed,  subsequently  restored  "  order"  in 
Rome  ;  but  God  forbid  that  order  should  be  restored  here,  at  such 
a  price  as  was  paid  for  it  in  Rome ! 

False  accusations,  too,  could  be  lightly  made.  Moliere  com- 
plained, that  "  Tartufte"  was  prohibited  on  the  ground  of  iU 
ridiculing  religion,  which  was  done  nightly  on  the  Italian  stage; 
whereas  he  only  satirized  hypocrites.  "  It  is  true,  Moliere,"  said 
the  Prince  de  Conti,  "  Harlequin  ridicules  heaven  and  exposes 
religion;  but  you  have  done  much  worse: — you  have  ridiculed 
tlie  first  minister  of  religion." 

Against  the  power  of  prohibition  being  lodged  in  one  single 
man,  Chesterfield  protested,  but  in  vain.  One  consequence,  he 
said,  would  be,  that  all  vices  prevalent  at  court  would  come  to  be 
represented  as  virtues.  He  told  the  Lords,  tliat  they  had  no 
right  to  put  an  excise  upon  wit :  and  said,  finely,  "  Wit,  my  Lords, 
is  the  property  of  those  who  have  it, — and  too  often  the  only 
property  they  have  to  depend  on.  It  is,  indeed,  but  a  precarious 
dependence.  Thank  God!"  he  said,  "we,  my  Lords,  have  a  de- 
poidence  of  another  kind  /" 

Such  is  the  substance  of  his  famous  but  unavailing  remon- 
strance. The  bill,  not  to  protect  morality,  but  to  spare  the  sus- 
ceptibilities of  statesmen  and  placemen,  passed ;  and  the  result 
was  a  "job."  In  the  ensuing  spring,  Chetwynd  was  appointed, 
under  the  Chamberlain,  licenser  of  plays,  with  a  salary  of  £400 
per  annum ;  and  to  help  him  in  doing  little,  Odell  was  named  a 
deputy-licenser,  with  £200  yearly ; — and  therewith  the  job  was 
consummated  ;  and  the  deputy-licenser  began  to  break  the  law  he 
was  appointed  to  see  strictly  observed.  When  the  Act  was 
passed,  his  most  sacred  majesty,  who  commanded  unsavory  pieces 
occasionally  to  be  played  before  him,  prorogued  the  parliament, 
after  lamenting  the  spirit  of  insubordination  and  licentiousness 
which  pervaded  the  community  ! 

The  government  made  use  of  its  authority,  by  prohibiting 
plays,  and  the  public  took  their  revenge,  by  hissing  those  that 
were  licensed.  Among  the  prohibited,  were  Brooke's  "  Gustavua 
Vasa;"  Thomson's  "  Edward  and  Eleanora  ;"  and  Fielding's  "  Miss 
Lucy  in  Town  ;" — the  first,    as  dangerous  to  public    order ;  the 


ENTER.    OARKICK.  329 

second,  as  too  freely  alluding  to  royal-family  dissensions ;  the 
third  (after  it  had  been  licensed)  as  satirizing  "  some  man  of 
quality  !"  To  these  must  be  added  "  Ai'minius,"  by  Paterson; 
Thomson's  deputy  in  his  post  of  Surveyor  of  the  Leeward  Islands. 
The  deputy  had  copied  out  his  principal's  "  Edward  and  Eloon- 
ora;"  and  as  "  Arminius"  was  in  the  same  hand,  it  was  forbidden, 
as  being,  probably,  an  equally  objectionable  piece  by  the  same 
author !  The  prohibition  applied  to  was  profitable  ;  for  he  pub- 
lished his  play  by  subscription,  and  gained  £1,000  by  it, — not  for 
the  reason  that  it  was  a  good,  but  because  it  was  a  forbidden 
drama. 

Audiences  amused  themselves  by  hissing  the  permitted  plays, 
sometimes  with  the  additional  luxury  of  personal  feeling  against 
the  author, — as  in  the  case  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Miller's  "  CofFee- 
House,"  "  Art  and  Nature,"  and  "  Hospital  for  Fools."  Thomson 
was  fortunate  in  saving  his  "  Agamemnon"  from  the  censors,  for  it 
is  not  unworthy  of  ranking  with  the  "  Iphigenia"  of  Racine  ;  and 
its  merit  saved  it.  Mallet  was  still  more  lucky  with  his  "  Mus- 
tapha;"  and  the  audience  were  too  pleased  to  hiss  a  piece,  the 
licensers  of  which  were  too  dull  to  perceive  that  Sultan  Solyman 
and  his  vizier,  Rustan,  were  but  stage  portraits  of  George  II.  and 
Sir  Robert  Walpole.  They  liad  no  such  tenderness  for  the 
"  Parricide"  of  William  Shirley, — a  gentleman  who  understood 
the  laws  of  trade  better  than  those  of  the  drama.  A  French  com- 
pany, at  the  Haymarket,  were  of  course  hissed  out  of  the  country. 
There  was  no  ill-will  against  them,  personally.  It  was  sufficient 
that  the  Licensing  Act  authorized  them  to  play,  and  the  public 
would  not  tolerate  them,  accordingly  !  If  they  bore  with  Lillo's 
"  Marina,"  it  was,  perhaps,  because  it  was  a  recast  of  "  Pericles ;" 
and  if  they  applauded  his  licensed  "  Elmeric,"  the  reason  may  have 
been,  that  the  old  dissenting  jeweller,  who  set  so  brave  an  example 
in  writing  "  moral"  pieces,  was  then  dead  ;  and  the  "  author's 
nights"  might  be  of  advantage  to  his  impoverished  family. 

But  there  were  licensed  dramas  at  which  the  public  laughed  too 
heartily,  to  have  cared  to  hiss,  or  which  so  entranced  them  that 
they  never  thought  of  it.  Thus,  Dodsley's  merry  pieces,  "  Sir 
John  Cockle,"  and  the  "  Blind  Beggar ;"  Carey  and  Lampe's  hila- 
rious burlesque-opera,  the  "  Dragon  of  Wantlev  ''  and  'ts  sequel, 


330  doran's  annals  or  the  stage. 

"  Margery ;"  witli  "  Orpheus  and  Eurydice,"  one  of  Rich's  bur- 
lesques and  pantomimes — the  comic  operatic  scenes  not  preceding, 
but  alternating  with  those  of  the  harlequinade — in  which,  by  the 
way,  the  name  of  Grimaldi  occurs  as  pantaloon, — rode  riotously 
triumphant  through  the  seasons,  which  were  otherwise  especially 
remarkable,  by  numerous  revivals  of  Sliakspeare's  plays,  according 
to  tlie  original  text ;  and  not  less  so  by  that  of  IMilton's  "  Comus," 
in  which  graceful  Mrs.  Gibber  played  and  sang  the  Lady,  and 
sunny  Kitty  Olive  gladdened  every  heart,  as  Euphrosyne. 

As  far  as  new  pieces  are  concerned,  thus  stood  the  stajre  till 
Garrick  came.  In  further  continuing  to  clear  it  for  his  coming,  1 
have  to  record  the  death  of  Bowman,  the  best  dressed  old  man  at 
eighty-eight,  and  the  cheeriest  that  could  be  seen.  My  readers,  I 
hope,  remember  him,  in  the  chapter  on  Betterton,  Miller  is  also 
gone, — a  favorite  actor,  in  his  day,  whose  merit  in  Irish  characters 
is  set  down  in  his  not  having  a  brogue,  which,  at  that  period,  was 
unintelligible  to  English  ears.  Miller  played  a  wide  range  of 
characters ;  and  he  married  for  the  very  singular  reason  that, 
being  unable  to  read  the  manuscript  copy  he  had  to  get  by 
heart,  his  wife  might  read  it  to,  and  beat  it  into,  him.  Bullock, 
too,  the  original  Boniface  and  Gibby  ;  and  Harper,  the  original 
Jobson ;  and  Ben  Griffin,  quaint  in  Simon  Pure,  comic  and  terrific 
in  Lovegold  ;  with  Mihvard,  the  original  Lusignan  ;  and  Bcri  Jon- 
son,  always  correct  and  natural, — have  now  departed.  With 
them,  has  gone  Mrs.  Hallam,  an  actress  of  repute, — the  original 
Duchess  of  Malfy,  in  the  revival  of  Webster's  tragedy  of  horrors. 
By  her  death,  the  boards  of  old  Drury  were  relieved  from  a  load 
of  fourteen  stone  weight  I  almost  as  great  as  that  of  Mademoiselle 
Georges. 

Of  those  that  were  left,  Quin  was  the  great  chief;  but  he  re- 
ceived a  rude  shock  from  Macklin,  when  the  latter,  after  playing 
Roxana,  in  a  burlesque  of  the  "  Rival  Queens,"  achieved  his  first 
triumph,  by  taking  Shylock  from  low  comedy,  and  playing  it  as  a 
serious  character.  The  managers  were  as  nervously  afraid  of  a 
riot  as  those  of  the  Ambigu  were,  when  Frederic  Lemaitre, 
making  no  impression  as  the  villain,  Robert  Macaire,  during  the 
first  act  of  "L'Auberge  des  Adrets,"  played  it  through  the  rest  of 
the  piece  as  a  comic  part !      In  cither  case,  the  greatest  success 


ENTER,    GARKICK.  331 

ensued,  but  that  of  Macklin  was  most  honestly  earned ;  and  he 
took  rank,  forthwith,  as  one  of  the  noble  actors  of  his  time. 

Turning  to  other  players,  I  find  Mrs.  Pritchard  progressing  from 
Lady  Macduft'  to  Isabella, — from  Lucy  to  Viola  and  Rosalind. 
Walker  meets  a  rival  in  the  Macheath  of  mellifluous  Beard. 
Woodward  and  Yates  are  rising  to  fame.  Young  Mrs.  Gibber 
disappears  for  awhile,  carrying  with  her  the  charms  that  strike  the 
sight,  and  the  merit  that  A^ins  the  soul.  There  is  a  terrible 
scandal  in  the  cause  of  her  disappearance.  "  Pistol,"  her  worth- 
less husband,  has  something  more  than  pushed  her  into  tempta- 
tion, that  he  may  make  money  by  the  offence  to  which  he  is 
the  prompter.  The  public  voice  condemns  him ;  a  jury  awards 
him  damt^-es,  which  show  their  contempt  for  his  "  sense  of 
honor;"  and  the  lady,  running  away  from  the  house  in  which  he  had 
shut  her  up,  while  he  was  absent,  playing  that  congenial  character, 
Scrub — took  for  her  better  friend  the  man  who  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  through  her  husband's  contrivance. 

As  if  to  compensate  for  the  loss  of  Mrs.  Gibber's  honeyed  tones, 
the  stage  was  wakened  to  a  new  delight,  by  the  presence  of  Mar- 
garet Woffington.  This  L-ish  actress  made  her  first  appearance  at 
Covent  Garden,  on  the  6th  of  November,  1740,  as  Sylvia,  in  the 
"Recruiting  Officer;"  and  when,  a  few  nights  later,  she  played 
Sir  Harry  Wildair, — the  ecstatic  town  were  ready  to  confess,  that  in 
the  new  and  youthful  charmer  they  had  at  once  recovered  both  Mrs. 
Oldfield  and  Robert  Wilks.  And  yet  this  enchantress,  so  gi-ace- 
fiil,  so  winning,  so  natural,  so  refined,  had  commenced  her  public 
career  as  one  of  the  chikhen  who  were  suspended  by  a  rope  ft'om 
the  ankles  of  Madame  Violanti,  when  that  wonder  of  her  day  ex- 
hibited her  powers,  in  Dublin,  on  the  tight  rope. 

Loath  to  leave  entirely,  GoUey  Gibber  now  and  then,  at  £oO  a 
night,  played  a  round  of  characters,  always  to  crowded  houses,  but 
most  so  when  he  enacted  some  of  his  old  beaux  and  fops.  His 
Richard  did  not  so  well  please  ;  and  one  night,  when  playing  this 
character,  he  whispered  to  Victor,  that  he  would  give  £50  to  be 
in  his  easy  chair  again,  by  his  fireside. 

There  was  a  Richard  at  hand  who  was  likely  to  drive  him 
there,  and  keep  all  others  from  the  stage.  The  season  of  1741-2 
opened  at  Drmy,  on  September  5,  with  "  Love  for  Love,"  and  the 


332  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"  Mock  Doctor."  The  additions  to  the  company,  of  note,  were 
Delane,  Theophihis  Gibber  and  Mrs.  Woffington.  Quin  was 
absent,  starring  in  Ireland.  Covent  Garden  opened  on  October 
8th,  with  the  "Provoked  Wife."  On  the  19th  of  the  latter 
month,  while  Drury  was  giving  "As  You  like  It,"  and  Covent 
Garden  was  acting  the  same  piece,  the  little  theatre  in  AylifFc 
Street,  Goodman's  Fields,  announced  the  "Life  and  Death  of 
King  Richard  III.,"  "  the  part  of  King  Richard  by  a  gentleman, 
•who  never  appeared  on  any  stage." 

At  last !  the  hour  and  the  man  had  come.  Throughout  this 
season  no  new  piece  was  produced  at  either  of  the  patent  theatres, 
so  influenced  were  they  by  the  consequences  of  this  first  appear- 
ance of  a  nameless  actor  at  Goodman's  Fields.  Of  course,  the 
new  actor  was  David  Garrick. 


GARRICK.    QUIX,    MRS.    PORTER.  333 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

OARRICK,     (JUIN,     MRS.     PORTER. 

He  had  selected  the  part  of  Richard  HI.,  for  reasons  which 
now  appear  singular.  "  He  had  often  declared,"  says  Davies,  "  he 
would  never  choose  a  character  that  was  not  suitable  to  his 
person ;  for,  said  he,  if  I  should  come  forth  in  a  hero,  or  in  any 
part  which  is  generally  acted  by  a  tall  fellow,  I  shall  not  be  offered 
a  larger  salary  than  40s.  a  week.  In  this,"  adds  the  biographer, 
"  he  glanced  at  the  follies  of  those  managers  who  used  to  measure 
an  actor's  merit  by  his  size." 

On  that  19th  of  October,  1741,  there  was  no  very  great  nor 
excitedly  expectant  audience  at  Goodman's  Fields.  The  bill  of 
the  day  first  promises  a  concert  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music, 
to  begin  exactly  at  six  f)'clock ;  admission  by  tickets  "  at  three, 
2s.  and  Is."  Between  the  two  parts  of  the  concert,  it  is  further 
announced  that  the  historical  play  of  the  "  Life  and  Death  of 
Richard  HI.,"  with  the  ballad-opera  of  "  The  Virgin  Unmasked," 
would  be  "  performed  gratis  by  Persons  for  their  Diversion."  The 
part  of  King  Richard,  "  by  a  gentleman  who  never  appeared  on 
any  stage,"  is  an  announcement,  not  true  to  the  letter;  but  the 
select  audience  were  not  troubled  therewith.  From  the  moment 
the  new  actor  appeared  they  were  enthralled.  They  saw  a  Rich- 
ard, and  not  an  actor  of  that  personage.  Of  the  audience,  he 
seemed  unconscious,  so  thoroughly  did  he  identify  himself  with 
the  character.  He  surrendered  himself  to  all  its  requirements, 
was  ready  for  every  phase  of  passion,  every  change  of  humor,  and 
was  as  wonderful  in  quiet  sarcasm  as  he  was  terrific  in  the  hurri- 
cane of  the  battle-scenes.  Above  all,  his  audience  were  delighted 
with  his  "  nature."  Since  Betterton's  death,  actors  had  fallen  into 
a  rhythmical,  mechanical,  sing-song  cadence.  The  style  still  lingers 
amojig  conservative  French  tragedians.  Garrick  spoke  not  as  an 
onrtor,  but  as  King  Richard  himself  might  have  spoken,  in  like 


334  poran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

circumstances.  The  cliuckling  exultation  of  his  "So  much  for 
Buckingham  !"  was  long  a  tradition  on  the  stage.  His  "  points," 
indeed,  occurred  in  rapid  succession.  We  are  told  that  the  rago 
and  rapidity  with  which  he  delivered 

"  Cold  friends  to  me  I     What  do  they  in  the  North, 
When  they  should  servo  tlieir  sovereign  in  the  West?" 

made  a  wonderful  impression  on  the  audience.  Hogarth  has 
shown  us  how  he  looked,  when  starting  from  his  dream ;  und 
critics  tell  us  that  his  cry  of  "  Give  me  another  horse  !"  was  the 
cry  of  a  gallant,  fearless  man  ;  but  that  it  fell  into  one  of  distress 
as  he  said,  "  Bind  up  my  wounds,"  while  the  "  Have  mercy, 
Heaven,"  was  moaned  piteously,  on  bended  knee.  The  battle- 
scene  and  death  excited  the  utmost  enthusiasm  of  an  audience 
altogether  unused  to  acting  like  this.  The  true  successor  of  Bet- 
terton  had,  at  last,  appeared.  Betterton  was  the  great  actor  of 
the  days  of  Charles  II.,  James  II.,  William,  and  of  Anne.  Pow- 
ell, Verbi-uggen,  Mills,  Quin,  were  unequal  to  the  upholding  of 
such  a  task  as  Betterton  had  left  them.  Booth  was  more  worthy 
of  the  inheritance ;  but  after  him  came  the  true  heir,  David  Gar- 
rick,  the  first  tragic  actor  who  gave  extraordinary  lustre  to  the 
Georgian  Era. 

And  yet,  for  seven  nights,  the  receipts  averaged  but  about  £30 
a  night;  and  Garrick  only  sloAvly  made  his  way,  at  first.  Then 
suddenly  the  town  was  aroused.  The  western  theatres  were 
abandoned.  "  Mr.  Garrick,"  says  Davies,  "  drew  after  him  the  in- 
habitants of  the  most  polite  parts  of  the  town.  Goodman's  Fields 
were  full  of  the  splendor  of  St.  James's  and  Grosvenor  Square. 
The  coaches  of  the  nobility  filled  up  the  space  from  Temple  Bar 
to  Whitechapel."  Among  these,  e .  en  bishops  might  have  been 
found.  Pope  came  up  from  Twickenham  and  without  disparaging 
Betterton,  as  some  old  stagers  were  disposed  to  do,  only  "  feared 
the  ■'lung  man  would  be  spoiled,  for  he  would  have  no  competi- 
tor." Quin  felt  his  laurels  shaking  on  his  brow,  and  declared  that 
if  this  young  man  was  right,  he  and  all  the  old  actors  must  be  wrong 
But  Quin  took  courage.  Dissent  was  a-foot,  and  he  compared 
the  attraction  of  Garrick  to  the  attraction  of  Whitfield.  The  sheep 
would  go  astray.     The  throwster's  shop-tiieatrc  was,  in  his  eyes,  a 


GARRICK,  QUIN,  MRS.  PORTER.         335 

sort  of  conventicle    It  would  all  come  right  by-and-by.    The  people, 
he  said,  who  go  to  chapel  will  soon  corns  to  church  again. 

Meanwhile  let  us  trace  the  new  actor  through  his  first  and  only 
season  in  the  far  east.  During  that  season,  ii-oni  the  19th  of 
October,  1741,  to  the  29th  of  May,  1742,  Garrick  acted"  more 
comic  than  tragic  characters ;  of  the  latter  he  played  Richai-d 
(eighteen  times),  Chamont,  Lothario,  the  Ghost  in  "  Uamlet"  (Gif- 
fard,  the  manager,  playing  the  Dane),  Aboan,  King  Lear,  and 
Pierre.  In  comedy,  he  played  Cbdio  ("  Love  Makes  a  Man"), 
Fondlewife,  Costar  Pearmain,  Witwond,  Bayes,  Master  Johnny 
("  School  Boy"),  Lord  Foppington  ("  Careless  Husband"),  Dure- 
tcte.  Captain  Brazen,  and  two  characters  in  farces,  of  which  he 
was  the  original  representative ;  Jack  Smatter  in  "  Pamela,"  and 
Sharp  in  the  "  Lying  Valet."  This  is,  at  least,  a  singular  selec- 
tion. 

The  most  important  of  his  comic  essays  in  his  first  busy  season, 
when  he  frequently  played  in  tragedy  and  farce,  on  the  same  night, 
•without  affecting  to  be  wearied,  was  in  the  part  of  Bayes.  His 
wonderful  powers  of  mimicry,  or  imitation,  wei'e  not  known  till 
then  ;  and  in  displaying  them,  his  Bayes  was  a  triumph,  although 
other  actors  excelled  him  in  that  part,  as  a  whole. 

His  great  scene  was  at  the  rehearsal  of  his  play,  when  he  cor- 
rected the  players,  and  instructing  them  how  to  act  their  parts, 
he  gave  imitations  of  the  peculiarities  of  several  contemporary 
actors.  Garrick  began  with  Delane,  a  comedian  of  merit,  good, 
presence,  and  agreeable  voice,  but,  we  are  told,  a  "  declaimer." 
In  taking  him  off,  Garrick  "  retired  to  the  upper  part  of  the  stage, 
and  drawing  his  left  arm  across  his  breast,  rested  his  right  elbow 
upon  it,  raising  a  finger  to  his  nose ;  he  then  came  forward  in  a 
stately  gait,  nodding  his  head  as  he  advanced,  and  in  the  exact 
tone  of  Delane,  spoke  the  famous  simile  of  the  "  Boar  and  tl  e 
Sow."  This  imitation  is  said  to  have  injured  Delane  in  the 
estimation  of  the  town ;  but  it  was  enjoyed  by  no  one  more  than 
by  tall  and  handsome  Hale  of  Covent  Garden,  where  his  melodions 
voice  w^as  nightly  used  in  the  character  of  lover.  But  when  Hale 
recognized  himself  in  the  soft,  plaintive  accents  of  a  speech 
delivered  without  feeling,  he  was  as  disgusted  as  Giffard,  who  was 
so  nettled  by  Garrick's  close  mimicry  of  his  striking  peculiarities, 


336  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

that  he  is  said  to  have  challenged  the  iniiuie,  fought  with  him,  and 
wounded  him  in  the  sword-arm.  Ryan,  more  wisely,  let  Garrick 
excite  what  mirth  he  might  from  the  imitation  of  the  hoarse  and 
tremulous  voice  of  the  former;  and  Quin,  always  expecting  to  be 
"tak6n  off,"  was  left  untouched,  salient  as  were  his  points,  on  the 
ground,  according  to  Murphy,  of  Quin's  excellence  in  characters 
suited  to  him. 

From  a  salary  of  £l  a  night,  Garrick  went  up  at  once  to  half 
profits.  The  patent  theatres  remained  empty  when  he  played  at 
Goodman's  Fields,  and  accordingly  the  patentees,  threatening  an 
application  to  the  law,  in  support  of  their  privileges,  shut  up  the 
house,  made  terms  with  Giffard,  and  Garrick  was  brought  over  to 
Drury  Lane,  where  his  salary  was  speedily  fixed  at  £600  per 
annum,  being  one  hundred  more  tlian  that  of  Quin,  which  hitherto 
had  been  the  higliest  ever  received  by  any  player. 

His  first  appearance  at  Drury  Lane  was  on  May  11,  1742,  when 
he  played  gratuitously  for  the  benefit  of  Harper's  widow,  taking 
what  was  then  considered  the  inferior  part  of  Chamont,  in  the 
"Orphan,"  of  which  he  made  the  principal  character  in  the  play. 
With  I^ayes,  on  the  29th,  Lear  and  Richard,  each  part  played 
once,  he  brought  his  preliminary  performances  at  Drury  to  a  close. 
In  June,  1742,  after  playing  triumphantly  during  the  brief 
remainder  of  the  spring  season  at  Drury  Lane,  Garrick,  in  com- 
pany with  Mrs.  Woftington,  crossed,  by  invitation,  to  Dublin. 
During  an  unusually  hot  summer  he  drew  such  thickly-packed 
audiences  that  a  distemper  became  epidemic  among  those  who 
constantly  visited  the  ill-ventilated  theatre,  which  proved  fatal  to 
many,  and  which  received  the  distinction  of  being  called  the  Gar- 
rick fever. 

Of  course,  Garrick  had  not  equally  affected  all  the  judges. 
Neither  Gray  nor  Walpole  allowed  him  to  be  the  transcendent 
actor,  which  the  town  generally  held  him  to  be,  from  the  first 
night  of  his  appearance.  "  Did  I  tell  you  about  Mr.  Garrick,  that 
the  town  are  horn-mad  after  ?"  writes  Gray  to  Chute  ;  "  there  are 
a  dozen  dukes  of  a  night  at  Goodman's  Fields,  sometimes ;  and " 
yet  I  am  stiff  in  the  opposition."  In  May,  1742,  Walpole  writes 
in  like  strain  to  Mann : — "  All  the  run  is  now  after  Garrick,  a 
wine-merchant,  who  is  turned  player  at  Goodman's  Fields       He 


GARRICK,    QUIN,    MRS.    PORTER.  337 

j-yays  all  parts,  and  is  a  very  good  mimic.  His  acting  I  have  seen, 
and  may  say  to  you,  who  will  not  toll  it  again  here,  I  see  nothing 
wonderful  in  it ;  but  it  is  heresy  to  say  so.  The  Duke  of  Argyll 
says  he  is  supei'ior  to  Betterton."  The  old  Lord  Cobham,  who 
was  then  at  Stowe  nui-sing  Jemmy  Hammond,  the  poet,  who  was 
then  dying  for  love  of  the  incomparable  Miss  Dashwood,  was  of 
the  same  opinion  with  the  Duke ;  but  they  could  only  contrast 
Betterton  in  his  decline  with  Garrick,  in  his  young  and  vigorous 
manhood. 

In  November  of  the  last-named  year,  Mrs,  Pendarves  (Delany) 
saw  the  new  actor  in  Richard  HI.  "  Garrick  acted,"  she  says, 
"  with  his  usual  excellence ;  but  I  think  I  won't  go  to  any  more 
such  deep  tragedies,  they  shock  the  mind  too  much,  and  the 
common  objects  of  misery  we  daily  meet  with  are  sufficient  morti- 
fication." This  lady,  too,  records  the  great  dissensions  that  raged 
among  critics,  with  respect  to  his  merits. 

Before  we  accompany  this  great  actor  in  his  career  of  thirty 
years  and  upwards,  let  us  close  the  present  chapter  by  looking 
back  over  the  path  he  has  already  passed,  and  which  comes 
towards  us,  singularly  enough,  from  Versailles,  and  the  cabinet  of 
the  Great  King ! 

Yes  !  When  Louis  XIV.,  on  the  24th  of  October,  1685,  signed 
the  revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  he  lost  800,000  Protestant 
subjects,  filled  Spkalfields,  Soho,  St.  Giles's,  and  other  parts  of 
England,  with  50,000  able  artisans,  and  gave  David  Garrick  to  the 
English  stage ! 

The  grandfather  of  David  was  among  the  fugitives.  That  he 
moderately  prospered  may  be  believed,  since  his  son  ultimately  held 
a  captain's  commission  in  the  English  array.  Captain  Garrick 
married  a  lady  named  Clough,  the  daughter  of  a  Lichfield  vicar ; 
and  the  most  famous  son  of  this  marriage,  David,  was  born  at 
Hereford,  his  father's  recruiting  quarters,  in  February,  1716.  In 
the  same  city  was  born  Nell  Gywn,  if  that,  and  not  Margaret  Sira- 
cott,  be  her  proper  name.  Her  great-grandson,  Lord  James  Beau- 
clerk,  was  not  yet  bishop  of  the  place  when  Garrick  was  born,  but 
a  much  more  dramatic  personage,  Philip  Bisse,  was.  This  right 
reverend  gentleman  was  the  audacious  individual  who,  catching 
the  Duchess  of  Plymouth  in  the  dark,  kissed  her,  and  theu 
Vol    L— 15 


338  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

apologized,  on  the  ground  that  he  had  mistaken  her  for  a  Maid  of 
Honor.  The  Uvely  duchess,  who  was  then  the  widow  of  Charles 
Fitz-Cliarles,  natural  son  of" Charles  II.,  hy  Catherine  Peg,  married 
the  surpliced  Corydon.  Their  life  was  a  pleasant  comedy ;  and 
under  this  very  dramatic  episcopate  was  Roscius  born. 

His  boyhood  was  passed  at  Lichfield,  where  ho  became  more 
remarkable  for  his  mania  for  acting  tlian  for  application  to  school 
studies.  At  the  age  of  eleven  years,  chief  of  a  boyish  company 
of  players,  he  acted  Kite,  in  the  "  Recruiting  Officer,"  in  which 
one  of  his  sisters  represented  the  chambermaid,  and  to  which 
Master  Samuel  Johnson  refused  to  supply  an  introductory  address. 
From  Lichfield  he  made  a  trip  to  Lisbon,  and  therewith  an 
attempt  to  fix  himself  in  a  vocation.  His  failure  was  no  source  of 
regret  to  himself.  His  uncle,  a  wine-merchant  in  the  Portuguese 
capital,  was  not  disposed  to  initiate  the  volatile  lad  into  the 
mysteries  of  his  craft,  and  David  returned  to  Lichfield,  with  such 
increase  of  taste  for  the  drama,  that  "several  of  his  father's 
acquaintances,"  says  Davies,  "  who  knew  the  delight  which  he  felt 
in  the  entertainment  of  the  stage,  often  treated  him  with  a  journey 
to  London,  that  he  miglit  feast  his  appetite  at  the  playhouse." 
By  this  singularly  liberality,  the  ardent  youth  was  enabled  to  see 
old  Mills  and  Wilks,  the  two  Gibbers,  Ryan  (of  whose  Richard, 
Garrick  always  spoke  with  admiration),  and  Quin.  Booth  was 
then  stricken  with  the  illness  which  ultimately  killed  him,  and 
Garrick  thus  failed  to  study  the  greatest  of  actors  between  the  era 
of  Betterton  and  the  coming  time  of  Garrick  himself.  Of 
actresses,  the  most  important  wliom  he  saw,  were  Mrs.  Porter, 
Mrs.  Gibber,  witli  whom  he  was  destined  to  rouse  the  passions  of 
many  an  audience,  and  Miss  Raftor,  who,  as  Mrs.  Clive,  was  after- 
wards to  rouse  and  play  with  his  own. 

This  ardent  youth  returned  to  Lichfield  with  more  eager  desire 
than  ever  to  achieve  fame  and  fortune  on  the  stage.  To  supply 
what  had  been  lacking  in  his  education,  he  became  the  pupil  of 
Samuel  Johnson ;  but  master  and  scholar  soon  wearied  of  it,  and 
they  together  left  Lichfield  for  London,  Garrick  with  small  means 
and  great  hopes,  Johnson  with  means  as  small  and  his  tragedy  of 
« Irene." 

The  resources  of  David  were  speedily  increased  by  the  death 


GARRICK,    QUIN,    MRS.    PORTER.  339 

of  his  uncle,  who  bequeathed  him  a  thousand  pounds,  with  the 
interest  of  which  David  paid  the  cost  of  instruction  whicli  he  re- 
ceived from  the  Rev.  Mr.  Colson.  Other  opportunities  faiUng,  he 
joined  with  his  brother  Peter  in  the  wine  trade,  in  Durham  Yard, 
where,  said  Foote,  in  after  years,  and  with  his  characteristic  ill- 
nature,  "  Dav}^  lived,  with  three  quarts  of  vinegar  in  the  cellar, 
calling  himself  a  wine-merchant."  Had  the  father  of  David  been 
at  home,  instead  of  on  service  at  Gibraltar,  the  latter  would 
probably  have  been  a  Templar  student ;  but  Garrick  hated  the 
study  of  the  law,  and,  out  of  deference  to  his  mother,  the  vicar's 
daughter,  he  refrained  from  appearing  on  the  stage  ;  but  when 
both  parents  had  passed  away,  within  the  same  year,  Garrick,  who 
had  studied  each  living  actor  of  mark,  and  even  recorded  his 
judgment  of  them,  anonymously  and  honestly,  in  the  public 
papers,  left  the  stock  in  trade  at  Durham  Yard  to  his  senior 
partner  and  brother.  In  1741,  a  diffident  young  gentleman, 
calling  himself  Lyddell,  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage,  at 
Ipswich.  He  selected  the  part  of  Aboan,  for  two  reasons ;  that 
it  was  a  secondary  character,  and  that  Aboan  was  a  "black." 
The  attempt  presented  less  difficulty,  for  the  first  reason ;  and 
failure  need  not  be  followed  by  recognition,  seeing  that  his 
features  would  be  half-concealed  under  "  color."  The  attempt, 
however,  was  fairly  successful,  but  not  a  triumph.  David  went 
earnestly  into  training.  He  played  every  species  of  character, 
solemn  tragedy  heroes,  high  and  low  comedy,  and  even  that  in- 
carnation of  the  monkey  in  man,  as  Alphonse  Karr  calls  him,  the 
bustling,  glittering,  active,  and  potent  Harlequin. 

His  career  of  a  few  months  at  Ipswich  was  as  the  preparatory 
canter  of  the  high-mettled  racer  over  the  course.  All  who 
witnessed  it,  augured  well  of  the  young  actor ;  and  Giffard,  the 
manager,  agreed  to  bring  him  out  in  London  in  the  autumn  of 
the  same  year,  1741,  at  that  theatre,  in  Goodman's  Fields,  which 
had  been  made,  twelve  years  previously,  out  of  a  throwster's  shop. 
It  had  been  opened,  without  competent  license,  by  Odell,  the 
dramatist,  and  subsequently  deputy  licenser  of  plays  under  the 
famous  Act  which  Walpole  introduced  and  Chesterfield  opposed. 
Odell  was  so  conscientious,  or  so  prudent,  that  in  consequence  of 
a   sermon  preached  against  the  theatre,  in  one  of  the  Aldgate 


340  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

churches,  he  sold  his  interest  to  GiffarJ,  who  eahirged  the  house, 
and  opened  it  in  1732.  After  a  struggle  of  three  seasons' 
duration,  the  determined  opposition  of  the  Eastern  puritans  drove 
hira  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  He  returned,  however,  at  the  end  of 
two  years ;  and  maintained  his  position  with  varying  fortunes,  till 
at  length,  in  1741,  he  brought  Mr.  Lyddell,  now  Mr.  Garrick,  from 
the  banks  of  the  Orwell  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  old  gate, 
where  the  statues  of  Love  and  Charity  still  stood,  and  near 
which,  crowds  soon  awoke  such  echoes  as  had  not  been  heard  in 
the  vicinity  since  the  godlike  effigies  were  first  erected. 

In  the  seasons  of  1742-3,  Garrick  acted  about  eighty  nights, — 
Hamlet,  thirteen  times ;  Richard  and  Bayes,  eleven ;  Archer,  nine ; 
Lear,  six ;  Fondlewife  and  Hastings,  four ;  Chamont,  three ;  Plume, 
Clodio,  and  Pierre,  twice ;  Abel  Drugger,  once  ;  Wildair,  created 
by  him  in  Fielding's  "  Wedding  Day,"  Lothario,  Millamour,  and 
Sharp,  occasionally.     Of  these,  Wildair  was  a  decided  failure. 

Quin  played  against  him  at  Covent  Garden,  Richard,  Chamont, 
Lear,  and  Pierre,  but  in  these  he  proved  no  competitor.  He  fell 
back  on  his  general  repertory,  and,  among  many  other  characters, 
played  Falstaff",  Macbeth,  Othello,  and  Brutus,  none  of  which  Gar- 
rick assumed  this  year.  Garrick's  Fondlewife  was  opposed  by 
that  of  Hippisley  at  Covent  Garden,  and  that  of  Cibber,  the 
younger,  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  His  Hamlet  was  encountered  by 
that  of  Ryan,  at  Covent  Garden,  to  Quin's  Ghost ;  and  a  counter- 
attraction  to  his  Lothario  was  set  up  in  those  of  Ryan  and  of  the 
silly  amateur,  Highmore,  the  latter  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  From 
all  competition,  Garrick  came  out  triumphant. 

Of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  this  was  the  "  positively  final"  season. 
Gifiard  managed  the  house  with  judgment,  but  he  lost  there  some 
of  the  wealth  which  he  had  acquired  at  Goodman's  Fields,  and  out 
of  which  he  purchased  the  ground  on  which  he  built  Coventry 
Court,  locality  of  gloomy  reputation,  near  the  Haymarket.  Dul- 
wich  College  was  a  wiser  investment  of  money  acquired  in  the 
theatre. 

Covent  Garden  lost,  this  year,  a  great  actress  in  Mrs.  Porter,  who 
commenced  her  theatrical  career  as  theatrical  attendant  to  Mrs. 
Barry,  and  was  one  of  the  old  players  of  King  William's  days. 
Among  the  most    marked  of  her  original    representations  were 


GARRICK,    QUIN,    M^^S.    PORTER.  341 

Araminta,  in  the  "  Confederacy ;"  Hermione,  Lucia,  in  "  Cato ;" 
Alicia,  in  "  Jane  Shore ;"  Lady  Woodville,  in  the  "  Non-juror ;" 
Leonora,  in  the  "  Revenge ;"  and  Lady  Grace,  in  the  "  Provoked 
Husband."     Few  details  of  her  life  are  known. 

Genest  combines  the  testimonies  of  Victor  and  Davies  in  de- 
scribing Mrs.  Porter,  as  the  genuine  successor  of  Mrs.  Barry, 
to  whom  the  former  had  long  played  the  "confidantes"  in 
tragedy,  and  from  the  great  mistress  learned  her  noble  art.  We 
are  told  that  Mrs.  Porter  was  tall  and  well  made,  of  a  fair  com- 
plexion, but  far  from  handsome ;  her  voice,  which  was  naturally 
tender,  was  by  labor  and  practice  enlaiged  into  sufficient  force  to 
fill  the  theatre,  but  by  that  means  a  tremor  was  contracted  to 
which  nothing  but  custom  could  have  reconciled  the  audience. 
She  elevated  herself  above  all  personal  defects  by  an  exquisite 
judgment.  Li  comedy,  her  acting  was  somewhat  cold  and  in- 
eflBcient;  but  in  those  pai'ts  of  tragedy  where  the  passions  pre- 
dominate, she  seemed  to  be  another  person,  and  to  be  inspired 
with  that  noble  and  enthusiastic  ardor  which  was  capable  of 
raising  the  coldest  auditor  to  animation.  She  had  a  dignity  iu 
her  mien,  and  a  spirited  propriety  in  all  characters  of  rage ;  but 
when  grief  and  tenderness  possessed  her,  she  subsided  into  the 
most  affecting  softness.  She  acted  the  tragic  parts  of  Hermione 
and  Belvidera  with  great  applause.  Booth,  who  was  no  admirer 
of  Mrs.  Oldfield  in  tragedy,  was  in  raptures  with  Mrs.  Porter's 
Belvidera.  She  excelled  particularly  in  her  agony,  when  forced 
from  Jaffier,  in  the  second  act,  and  in  her  madness. 

After  the  dislocation  of  her  limb,  and  in  advanced  age,  she  still 
acted  with  vigor  and  success.  In  Queen  Elizabeth  ("Albion 
Queens"),  she  turned  the  cane  she  used  on  account  of  her  lame- 
ness, to  great  advantage.  After  signing  Mary's  death-warrant,  she 
"  struck  the  stage,"  says  Davies,  "  with  such  characteristic  vehe- 
mence, that  the  audience  reiterated  applause." 

On  Valentine's  night,  1743,  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Wales 
were  present  at  her  farewell  benefit,  when  she  played  this  Queen 
Elizabeth,  under  august  patronage.  The  fine  old  lady  seems  to 
have  fallen  into  some  distress,  for  in  1758,  she  published,  by  five 
shilling  subscriptions,  for  her  benefit,  the  comedy  of  "  The  Mis- 
takes, or  the  Happy  Resentment,"  which  had  been  given  to  her 


342  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

by  Pope's  Lord  Cornbury,  the  son,  but  not  destined  to  be  the 
heir,  of  the  last  of  the  Hydes,  who  bore  the  title  of  Earls  of 
Clarendon.  He  was  a  dull  writer,  but  so  good  a  man,  that  Wal- 
pole  says,  in  reference  to  Pope's  line — 

"  Disdain  what  Corubury  disdains,"— 

"  it  was  a  test  of  virtue  to  disdain  what  he  disdained."  After  his 
death,  by  falling  from  a  horse  in  France,  the  decayed  tragedy 
queen  published  the  play.  The  old  and  favored  servant  of  the 
public  modestly  says,  that  her  "  powers  of  contributing  to  their 
amusement  are  no  more,"  but  that  she  "  always  retains  a  grateful 
sense  of  the  indulgence  she  had  received  from  those  who  have 
had  the  goodness  to  accept  her  inclination  and  endeavors  to 
please,  as  real  merit."  Nothing  could  be  more  modest,  but  the 
truth  is,  that  this  was  written/or  Mrs.  Porter,  by  Horace  Walpole. 
The  subscription  list  was  well  filled, — the  Countess  Cowper,  whose 
letters  figure  in  Mrs.  Delany's  memoirs,  taking  fourscore  copies. 

Let  us  now  return  to  the  renewed  struggles  of  the  rival  houses, 
made  fiercer  by  the  rise  of  a  new  actor 


RIVALRY  ;  AND   ENTER.   SPRANGER  BARRY.  343 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

rivalry;  and  knter,  spranger  barry. 

Hitherto,  under  the  mismanagement  of  the  lazy  and  reckless 
patentee,  Fleetwood,  Drury  Lane  had  fallen  to  a  level  with  Sad- 
lers  Wells — tumblers  and  rope-dancers  being  put  forward  as  the 
chief  attractions.  Even  after  Garrick's  accession,  gross  mismanage- 
ment continued,  and  drove  the  principal  actors,  whose  salaries 
were  often  unpaid,  into  open  rebellion.  They  sought  permission  from 
the  Lord  Chamberlain,  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  to  open  the  theatre 
in  the  Haymarket,  on  their  own  account.  But  the  grandson  of 
Charles  H.  sneered  at  the  fact  of  an  actor  earning  £600  a  year, 
when  a  relative  of  his  own,  in  the  navy,  repeatedly  exposed  his 
life,  in  the  king's  service,  for  half  that  sum.  The  duke  put  con- 
straint on  them  to  return  to  their  allegiance  to  Fleetwood.  The 
latter  dictated  hard  terms  to  most  of  them,  except  to  Garrick,  and 
he  flatly  refused  to  receive  Macklin  at  all.  This  exclusion  brought 
on  a  remarkable  theatrical  riot.  The  confederate  actors  had 
agreed  to  triumph  or  to  fall  together.  To  allow  Macklin  to  be 
sacrificed  to  the  resentment  of  Fleetwood,  was  a  betrayal  on  their 
part,  of  the  compact.  Macklin  appealed  to  the  town,  and  Roscius 
would  have  been  driven  from  the  stage,  but  for  Fleetwood's  hired 
pugilists  who  pummelled  one  portion  of  the  audience  into  silence, 
and  enabled  the  whole  house  to  enjoy,  after  all,  what  they  most 
cared  for — the  acting  of  Garrick,  undisturbed.  In  this  season, 
1743-4,  Roscius  did  not  appear  till  the  6th  of  December,  when 
he  acted  Bayes.  Between  that  night,  and  the  close  of  the  season, 
on  the  31st  of  May,  he  played  in  all  seventy  times.  His  most 
tnarked  success  was  in  Macbeth,  in  the  tragedy  "written  by 
Shakspeare,"  when  he  had  Mrs.  GifFard  for  his  Lady ;  he  repeated 
this  part  thirteen  times.  Covent  Garden  opposed  to  him,  first 
Quin,  in  Davenant's  alteration  of  Shakspeare,  and  subsequently 
Sheridan,  who  on  the  31st  of  March,  1744,  made  his  first  appear 
ance  at  Covent  Garden,  in  opposition  to  Garrick,  as  Hamlet 


314:  doran's  anxals  of  the  stage. 

The  force  of  the  two  theatres  will  be  better  understood,  perhaps, 
if  I  show  the  exact  amount  of  the  opposition  brought  to  bear 
against  each  other.  Garrick's  Richard  was  met  by  that  of  Ryan  ; 
the  Lord  and  Lady  Townley  of  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Woffington,  by 
those  of  Ryan  and  Mrs.  Ilorton ;  the  Hamlet  and  Ophelia  of  the 
former  two,  by  those  of  Ryan  (and  afterwards  of  Sheridan)  and 
Mrs.  Clive.  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Giffard,  in  "  Macbeth,"  were 
opposed,  first  by  Qnin,  then  by  Sheridan  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  who 
played  every  thing,  from  the  Thane's  wife  to  Kitty  Pry.  To  op- 
pose to  him  an  amateur,  like  Highmore,  in  Lothario,  was  absurd ; 
Quin's  Lear  had  no  weight  against  the  mad  old  king  by  his  young 
rival ;  and  Mrs.  Charke's  Plume,  one  of  the  many  male  characters 
which  Gibber's  daughter  loved  to  play,  was  pale,  compared  with 
that  of  the  universal  actor. 

All  the  above  were  honorable  competitors;  but  there  also 
appeared  this  season  an  actor,  who  became  Ganick's  personal 
enemy — namely,  Foote.  The  latter  commenced  his  career  at  the 
Haymarket,  February  6th,  1744,  as  Othello,  to  the  lago  of  Mack- 
lin,  who  had  opened  that  house  with  a  "  scratch  company," 
including  "  pupils" — while  he  was  disengaged  at  Drury  Lane. 
Foote  also  played  Hamlet,  to  the  Ghost  and  First  Gi-avedigger  of 
Macklin  ;  and  did  not  find  his  vocation,  as  he  thought,  in  such 
parts  as  Lord  Foppington. 

At  both  patent  houses  the  "  Beggars'  Opera"  was  produced ;  at 
Drury,  the  Machcath  and  Polly  were  Blakes  and  Miss  Budgell, 
an  illegitimate  daughter  of  Eustace  Budgell ;  at  the  Garden, 
Cashell's  Macheath  gave  way  to  that  of  Beard,  while  the  Polly  and 
Lucy  of  Kitty  Clive  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  at  the  same  theatre, 
charmed  the  auditors  for  a  time,  and  gave  them  pleasant  memories 
for  a  long  period  to  come. 

The  literature  of  the  stage  did  not  make  progress  this  season, 
(/lassical  Cooke  selected  an  assize  case  of  murder  in  Kent,  and 
spoiled  its  terrible  simplicity  in  his  "  Love  the  Cause."  To 
Havard's  cold,  declamatory  tragedy,  "  Regulus,"  Garrick  ga' e 
warmth  and  natural  eloquence ;  but  even  his  Zaphna,  admirable  as 
it  was  in  "  Mahomet,"  would  not  have  saved  the  Rev.  Mr.  Mil.'er'a 
adaptation  from  Voltaire,  had  that  part  of  the  public  who  hated 
the  adapter,  known  to  whom  they  were  indebted  for  it.      Miller 


RIVALRY  ;    AND   ENTER,   SPR^VNGER   BARRY  3J:5 

ended  his  uneasy  life,  during  the  run  of  the  play,  a  represtntation 
of  which,  after  his  death,  contributed  a  hundred  pounds  to  the 
relief  of  his  widow  and  children. 

In  the  season  of  17-44-5,  the  old  opposition  was  feebly  sustained 
on  the  part  of  Covent  Garden,  but  with  some  novelty  appended — 
especially  in  the  case  of  a  ballad-singer  like  Cashell,  attempting 
Hamlet  against  Garrick  !  Further,  the  King  John  of  the  latter  in 
Shakspeare's  play  was  opposed  to  old  Gibber's  alteration  of  the 
same  piece,  produced  at  Covent  Garden,  as  "  Papal  Tyranny,"  in 
which  Quin  played  the  King,  and  toothless,  nerveless  Gibber,  Pan- 
dulph.     The  indulgent  audience  pitied  the  quavering  old  player. 

Garrick's  King  John  was  a  fine,  but  not  the  most  perfect  of  his 
performances ;  he  was  happy  in  such  a  Constance  as  Mrs.  Gibber. 
Quin  congratulated  himself  on  having  such  a  Hubert  as  Bridge- 
water,  the  ex-coal-dealer.  The  value  of  Gibber's  mangling  of 
Shakspeare,  got  up  to  abuse  the  Pope,  because  of  the  Pretender, 
may  be  conjectured  by  a  single  instance — that  John  is  too  shy  to 
hint  at  the  murder  of  Arthur  till  Hubert  has  "  shut  the  window- 
shutters."  The  modesty  of  the  mangier  may  be  more  than 
guessed  at  from  the  fact,  that  Gibber — in  his  own  words — "  en- 
deavored to  "j;ak^  it  more  like  a  play  than  I  found  it  in  Shak- 
speare !" 

Quin,  to  witness  his  rival's  impersonation  of  Othello  to  the  lago 
of  Macklin,  w^ent  to  Drury,  in  company  with  Bishop  Hoadley's 
son,  the  doctor.  Foote,  in  the  previous  February,  had  announced 
that  his  Othello  would  "  be  new  dressed,  after  the  manner  of  his 
country."  Garrick,  on  his  entrance,  looked  so  ill  in  Quin's  jealous 
eyes,  that  he  compared  him  to  Hogarth's  black  boy,  and  said  to 
Hoadley,  "  Why  doesn't  he  bring  in  the  tea-kettle  and  lamp  ?" 
Great  as  Quin  was  in  mere  declamation,  Garrick  excelled  him  in 
the  address  to  the  senate.  Victor  describes  the  falling  into,  and 
the  recovery  from,  the  trance,  as  "  amazingly  beautiful ;"  but  he 
honestly  told  Garrick,  that  the  impersonation  was  short  of  per- 
fection. Murphy  states  that  Garrick  had  the  passions  at  command, 
and  that  in  the  sudden  violence  of  their  transitions  he  was  with- 
out a  rival. 

GaiTick  attempted  Scrub  with  less  success,   and   Quin  had  no 
reason  to   be  disquieted  by  his    rival's  Sir  John  Brute.      Quin'a 
15* 


3iG  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Othello  was  a  favorite  with  the  town ;  but  in  that  part  Gamck  had 
a  more  formidable  rival  in  Sheridan,  and  the  most  formidable  in 
Barry.  The  only  original  character  he  played  this  season  was 
Tancred,  in  Thomson's  "Tancred  and  Sigismunda,"  a  play  too 
sentimental  and  stilted,  too  poor  in  incident,  and  too  little  varied 
in  character,  in  spite  of  its  occasional  richness  and  sweetness,  to 
interest  an  audience,  in  these  days.  It  was  otherwise,  at  the  time 
of  its  first  appearance,  when  with  Garrick,  Tancred ;  Sheridan,  Sif- 
fredi ;  Delane,  Osmond  ;  and  Mrs.  Gibber,  Sigismunda ; — the  town 
sighed,  wept,  and  moaned  over  the  love  trials  of  the  celebrated 
pair.  Garrick's  Tancred  is  warmly  eulogized  by  Davies,  who  de- 
scribes Garrick  and  Mrs.  Gibber  as  "formed  by  nature  for  the 
illustration  of  each  other's  talents.  In  their  persons,"  he  says, 
"  they  were  both  somewhat  below  the  middle  size.  He  was, 
though  short,  well-made ;  she,  though  in  her  form  not  graceful, 
and  scarcely  genteel,  was,  by  the  elegance  of  her  manners  and 
symmetry  of  her  features  rendered  very  attractive.  From  similarity 
of  complexion,  size,  and  countenance,  they  could  have  been  easily 
supposed  brother  and  sister;  but  in  the  powerful  expression  of 
the  passions,  they  approached  to  a  still  nearer  resemblance.  He 
was  master  of  all  the  passions,  but  more  particularly  happy  in  the 
exhibition  of  parts  where  anger,  resentment,  disdain,  horror,  de- 
spair, and  madness  predominated.  In  love,  grief,  and  tenderness, 
she  greatly  excelled  all  competitors,  and  was  also  unrivalled  in  the 
more  ardent  emotions  of  jealous  love  and  frantic  rage,  which  she 
expressed  with  a  degree  of  sensibility  in  voice,  look,  and  action, 
that  she  never  failed  to  draw  tears  from  the  most  unfeeling." 

A  change  of  proprietorship  in  the  Drury  Lane  patent  aftbrded 
Garrick  an  excuse  for  repairing  to  Dublin.  His  rival,  Sheridan, 
invited  him,  not  concealing  his  dislike,  but  professing  readiness  to 
meet  all  his  requirements.  With  some  difficulty  the  terms  were 
arranged,  and  Gan-ick  appeared  in  various  characters,  alternating 
them  with  Sheridan,  and  playing  frequently  with  a  new  actor, 
young  Barry,  who  was  afterwards  to  become  the  most  dreaded 
and  the  most  brilliant  of  his  rivals. 

For  a  long  series  of  years  the  Irish  stage  had  been,  with  rare  ex- 
ceptions, in  a  pitiable  condition.  At  one  time,  three  houses  were 
open,  with  a  public  only  sufficient  for  one.    Managing  committees 


rivalry;  and  enter,  spranger  barry.       347 

of  noblemen  made  the  confusion  worse  confounded,  and  seven 
manao-ers,  known  as  the  "  seven  wise  men,"  only  exhibited  their 
folly  and  incapacity.  There  were  performers  of  merit  at  from 
twelve  shillings  to  a  guinea  a  week,  who  seldom  obtained  half 
their  salaries.  On  one  occasion,  we  hear  of  the  acting  managers 
coming  down  to  the  theatre,  one  evening,  when,  on  comparing 
notes,  they  were  all  found  to  be  dinnerless,  for  want  of  cash  and 
of  credit.  With  the  first  money  that  was  paid  at  the  doors,  they 
obtained  a  loin  of  mutton,  with  the  next  they  sent  for  bread,  and 
with  a  third  supply  they  procured  the  generous  beverage  they 
most  required ;  and  then  dined  behind  the  scenes  while  the  per- 
formance was  in  progress. 

Sheridan's  management  produced  a  thorough  reformation  ;  and 
when  Garrick  appeared,  on  the  9th  of  December,  1745,  as  Ham- 
let, the  sensation  was  extraordinary  ;  but  it  was  increased  when 
Garrick,  Barry,  and  Sheridan  acted  in  the  same  plays — tlae 
"  Orphan"  and  the  "  Fair  Penitent."  Then,  the  enthusiasm  was 
unbounded.  In  the  latter  play,  Barry  is  said  to  have  so  distin- 
guished himself  in  Altamont  as  to  have  raised  that  character  to 
a  level  with  those  of  Lothario  and  Horatio,  played  respectively  by 
Garrick  and  Sheridan.  This  was  the  most  successful  season  ever 
known  in  Dublin.  During  its  progress  Garrick  played  but  one 
character  he  had  never  played  before, — Orestes,  and  that  he  never 
repeated  in  England.  His  objection  to  wear  the  old  classical 
costume,  or  what  then  passed  for  it,  was  extreme.  His  sojourn  in 
Dublin  was  otherwise  not  void  of  incident.  There  was  one  thin 
house,  and  that  by  command  of  a  leading  lady  of  fashion,  on  the 
night  of  his  playing  Falconbridge  to  Sheridan's  King  John.  The 
part  of  Constance  belonged  by  right  to  that  sparkling  young 
beauty,  Mrs.  Bellamy.  Garrick  thought  her  too  youthful  to  en- 
act the  mother  of  Arthur,  and  he  persuaded  Sheridan  to  give  the 
part  to  an  older  actress,  Mrs.  Furnival.  The  angry  Bellamy  flew 
to  lay  her  wrongs  before  the  most  influential  woman  then  in  Dub- 
lin, the  Hon.  Mrs.  Butler,  whose  word,  throughout  the  Irish  world 
of  fashion,  passed  for  law.  Mrs.  Butler  espoused  the  suppliant's 
case  warmly,  and  issued  her  decree,  prohibiting  the  world  over 
which  she  ruled  from  visiting  the  theatre  on  the  night  "King 
John"  was  to  be  played.     As  she  gave  excellent  dinners  and  ex- 


848  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

quisite  balls,  she  was  obeyed  by  all  ages  and  both,  sexes,  and  the 
"  quality,"  at  least,  left  the  actors  to  play  to  empty  boxes. 

Garrick  had  recovered  from  the  attendant  mortification,  when 
lie  asked  Mrs.  Bellamy  to  play  Jane  Shore  to  his  Hastings,  for  his 
benefit.  The  lady  declined.  If  she  was  too  young  for  Constance, 
she  was  too  young  for  Jane  Shore.  Garrick  applied  to  Mrs.  But- 
ler to  use  her  influence,  but  it  availed  nothing.  He  addressed  a 
high-flown  letter  to  Mrs.  Bellamy  : — "  To  my  soul's  idol,  the  beau- 
tiful Ophelia;"  but  the  epistle  fell  into  wrong  hands,  and  found 
its  way  into  the  papers. 

Roscius,  before  leaving  Ireland,  paid  homage  to  the  Hon.  Mrs. 
Butler,  by  taking  leave  of  her  in  a  formal  visit.  With  equal  for- 
mality, as  the  visitor  was  about  to  depart,  the  lady  placed  in  his 
hands  a  small  packet.  It  contained,  she  said,  her  own  sentiments 
and  convictions,  and,  in  presenting  it  to  Mr.  Garrick,  all  that  she 
requested  was,  that  he  would  abstain  from  too  curiously  inquiring 
into  its  contents  until  he  had  sailed  out  of  Dublin  Bay.  The  ac- 
tor had  vanity  enough  to  lead  him  to  think,  that  within  the  myste- 
rious packet  might  be  enclosed  some  token  of  affection,  perhaps 
an  acknowledgment  of  love.  He  obeyed  the  lady's  injunctions 
till  the  ship,  which  was  conveying  him  to  Holyhead,  had  passed 
the  Hill  of  Howth,  then,  "  by  your  leave,  fair  seal !"  and  he  arrived 
at  the  heart  of  the  mystery.  Carefully  unfolded,  he  found  a  copy 
of  Wedetfs  Hymns  and  of  Swiff s  Discourse  on  the  Trinity.  In 
nis  disappointment  he  is  said  to  have  flung  both  books  into  the 
sea;  but  I  think  he  may  have  had  better  taste,  and  that  he  took 
Mrs.  Butler's  remembrances  with  him  to  London. 

Before  proceeding  to  chronicle  the  leading  events  of  the  next 
London  season,  it  remains  to  be  stated  that  in  the  last  season  at 
Covcnt  Garden,  there  was  one  first  appearance  of  note :  that  ot 
George  Anne  Bellamy,  on  the  22d  of  November,  1744,  as  Nioni- 
mia,  in  the  "  Orphan."  Rich  persuaded  this  gifted  but  self-willed 
girl  to  become  an  actress,  greatly  to  the  displeasure  of  Quin,  who 
objected  to  perform  Chamont,  to  such  a  child.  In  the  first  three 
acts,  her  terrors  rendered  her  so  incapable,  that  old  Quin's  objec- 
tions seemed  justified  ;  but,  recovering  her  power  with  her  courage, 
the  brilliant  young  creature  played  with  such  eft'ect,  that  Quin 
embraced  her  after  the  act-scene  dropped,  pronounced  her  "  divine," 


RIVALRY  ;   AXD   ENTER,    SPRANGER   BARRY.  349 

and  declared  that  she  was  of  tlie  "  true  spirit."  She  sensibly 
strengthened  a  company  already  strong,  in  Mrs.  Pritchard,  Mrh. 
Clive,  and  Mrs.  Horton.  On  the  loth  of  April,  1745,  Shuter, 
from  Richmond,  appeared  at  Covent  Garden,  in  the  "  Schoolboy," 
under  the  designation  of  Master  Shuter. 

At  the  Haymarket,  Theophilus  Gibber  revived  some  of  Shak- 
speare's  plays,  and  produced  his  daughter  Jane,  in  Juliet,  and 
other  parts;  but  Colley  compelled  him  to  withdraw  his  daughter, 
and  the  Lord  Chamberlain  forced  him  to  close  an  unlicensed  house, 
which,  however,  his  eccentric  sister,  Mrs.  Charke,  contrived  to 
keep  open  for  a  while,  playing  there  Captain  Macheath  and  other 
male  characters,  before  she  attempted  to  pass  herself  off  on  the 
world,  or  hide  herself  from  it,  as  a  man. 

There  is  this  irregularity  in  the  season  of  1745-6,  that  neither 
Garrick,  nor  Quin,  nor  Mrs.  Gibber  was  engaged  at  either  house. 
The  public  was  more  concerned  with  the  Scottish  Rebellion  than 
with  the  drama.  Loyal  Lacy,  who  had  succeeded  the  incapable 
Fleetwood  in  the  patent,  applied  for  leave  to  raise  200  men  in  de- 
fence of  King  and  Government ;  and  the  whole  company  of  Drury 
Lane  players  expressed  their  willingness  to  engage  in  it.  The 
spirit  which  some  hundred  years  before  had  animated  the  loyal 
actors,  now  moved  Delane ;  and  Luke,  and  Isaac  Sparks,  with 
Barrington,  all  three  newly  come  from  Ireland, — Mills,  with  ortho- 
dox Havard,  Bridges,  Giffiird,  Yates,  Macklin,  Neale,  and  Foote. 
The  ladies,  Clive,  Woffington,  Macklin,  mother  and  daughter,  Mrs. 
Giffard,  and  the  rest,  applauded  the  loyal  confederacy.  The  "  Non- 
juror" was  revived,  with  Luke  Sparks  as  Dr.  Wolf,  because  of  its 
political  allusions.  Macklin,  in  six  weeks,  wrote  his  "  Henry  VII., 
or  the  Popish  Impostor,"  and  distributed  it,  act  by  act,  for  study, 
and  he  sent  the  Pretender,  Perkin  Warbeck,  to  execution,  without 
much  succoring  King  George.  Ford's  ultra-monarchical  piece,  on 
the  same  subject,  was  revived  at  Goodman's  Fields,  and  Covent 
Garden  rehearsed  another  to  no  effect,  as  the  Rebellion  was  over 
before  the  piece  could  suppress  it.  The  "  Massacre  at  Paris,"  with 
its  story  of  the  pretensions  of  the  Duke  de  Guise  (Ryan),  and  its 
famous  Protestant  prologue,  was  among  the  Covent  Garden  revi- 
vals. The  Scottish  rebellion  being  over,  Theophilus  Gibber  con- 
gratulated the  audience  thereon  at  Drury ;  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  at 


350  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  Garden,  after  acting  Aspasla,  in  "  Tamerlane,"  recited  an  exult- 
ing prologue,  which  Dodsley  printed  in  his  best  type.  Both 
houses  gave  benefits  for  the  "  Vetei'an  Scheme"  at  Guildhall,  for 
which  scheme  Mrs.  Gibber  offered  to  play  three  nights,  gratis,  but 
was  snubbed,  by  a  hyper-Protestant,  in  the  papers.  The  handsome 
Catholic  actress  indignantly  replied,  that  her  love  for  King  George 
was  not  diminished  by  her  faith  in  the  Romish  religion.  The 
whole  matter  ended  merrily,  by  George  II.,  and  the  entire  royal 
family,  repairing  to  Covent  Garden,  where  "  Macbeth"  was  per- 
formed, and  a  rebel  and  regicide  put  to  death,  to  the  great  satis- 
faction of  the  royal,  noble,  gentle,  and  simple  audience  there  con- 
gregated. 

I  do  not  know  which  of  the  new-comers,  named  above,  so 
struck  Lady  Townshend,  that  she  told  Horace  Walpole,  in  Sep- 
tember, 1745,  "she  had  seen  anew  fat  player,  who  looked  like 
everybody's  husband."  Walpole  replied,  "  I  could  easily  believe 
that,  from  seeing  so  many  women  who  looked  like  everybody's 
wives !" 

In  all  other  respects,  there  is  little  worthy  of  notice,  save  that, 
at  the  close,  when  all  was  jubilee  again,  and  Charles  Edward  no 
longer  an  object  of  fear,  Garrick  reappeared  in  London.  He 
arrived  in  town  in  May,  1746.  Rich  and  Lacy  were  both  eager 
to  engage  him,  but  the  former  succeeded,  and  Garrick  closed  the 
season  at  Covent  Garden,  by  playing  six  nights  at  £50  per  night. 
Thus  he  gained  more  in  a  week  than  Betterton,  ere  he  was  a 
"  master,"  had  gained  in  a  year.  Lacy,  meanwhile,  had  secured 
Barry,  and  the  town  were  eager  to  hear  him  of  the  silver  tongue. 
Gai'rick  generously  said  of  him,  in  answer  to  a  query  respecting 
the  meiits  of  the  Irish  actor,  that  he  was  the  most  exquisite  lover 
that  had  ever  been  seen  on  the  stage.  Bany  proved  the  truth  of 
'  this  criticism,  by  excelling  Garrick  in  Romeo,  in  which  the  latter 
was  so  fervent,  the  former  so  winning  and  so  seductive. 

Before  we  proceed  to  notice  the  coming  struggle,  let  us  cast 
back  a  glance  at  the  stage  from  whence  this  master  came. 


THE  OLD  DUBLIN  THEATEE.  351 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE    OLD    DUBLIN    THEATRE. 


But  for  a  murder  in  the  house  of  a  Mrs.  Bungy,  Dublin  would 
not  have  had  its  famous  old  theatre  in  that  locality,  which  the 
popular  voice  would  call  by  the  name  of  Smock  Alley  (from  the 
handsome  hussies  who  lived  there),  long  after  Mrs.  Bungy's  house 
and  those  adjacent  to  it  had  been  swept  away,  and  the  newer  and 
finer  edifices  were  recorded  as  standing  in  "  Orange  Street."  The 
first  theatre  in  this  questionable  locality  was  erected  soon  after 
the  Restoration ;  but  at  the  period  named,  this  house  and  theat 
ricals,  generally,  were  opposed  with  as  much  bitterness  in  Dublin, 
as  in  Edinburgh. 

I  learn  from  Gilbert's  History  of  Dublin  that,  in  1662,  the  Chapter 
of  Christ  church  expressed  its  horror  at  "  one  of  the  stipendiaries  of 
the  church  having  sung  among  the  stage-players  in  the  play-house, 
to  the  dishonor  of  God's  service  and  disgrace  to  the  members  and 
ministers  of  the  church."  The  ultra-religious  portion  of  the  Dub- 
lin community  hated  the  theatre,  with  all  their  hearts,  and  to  such 
persons  two  little  ijicidents  occurred  to  the  playhouse  in  Smock 
Alley,  which  must  have  been  peculiarly  pleasant  to  their  humane 
yet  indignant  hearts.  One  was,  that  in  1671,  the  gallery  of  the 
above-mentioned  house,  being  overcrowded,  fell  into  the  pit.  The 
consequences,  of  course,  were  lamentable,  but,  you  see,  those 
godless  players  were  acting  Jonson  's  "  Bartholomew  Fair,"  and 
what  could  be  expected  when  that  satire  on  the  super-righteous 
was  raising  a  laugh  in  the  throats  of  the  Philistines?  Again,  in 
1701,  a  part  of  the  same  house  fell  in  during  a  representation  of 
Shad  well's  "  Libertine,"  and  nothing  could  seem  more  natural  than 
this  catastrophe,  to  the  logical  bosoms  of  the  upright ;  for  at  the 
devil's  jubilee,  Satan  himself  was  present,  and  carried  home  with 
him   the  lost  souls  of  his  children.     Even  the  play-going  public 


352  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

grew  a  little  suspicious  of  the  stability  of  the  building,  but  they 
were  reassured  by  the  easy  certificate  of  a  "  Surveyor-general," 
who  asserted  that  there  was  no  chance  of  a  failure  in  the  hold- 
fasts and  supports  of  the  edifice, /or  several  years  !  Iji  lialf-a-dozen 
years,  however,  the  house  was  down  ;  and,  in  seven  months,  the 
new  house  was  open  to  an  eager  public.  The  latter,  however, 
were  not  quite  so  eager  to  enter  as  the  managers  were  to  receive 
them.  "  So  eager  were  they  to  open,  that  they  began  to  play 
before  the  back  part  of  the  house  was  tiled  in,  which,  the  town 
knowing,  they  had  not  half  an  audience  the  first  night,  but  mend- 
e(1  leisurely  by  degrees,"  It  was  in  the  old  house  that  Elrington, 
the  great  support  of  Drury  Lane  when  Booth  was  indisposed,  ruled 
supreme  in  the  hearts  and  houses  of  his  enthusiastic  Irish  admirers. 
His  old  patrons  never  forgot  him.  "  I  have  known,"  says  one  al- 
ready quoted,  "  Tom  Elrington  in  the  part  of  Bajazet  to  be  heard 
all  over  the  Blind  Quay  ;  and  I  do  not  believe  you  could  hear  Barry 
or  Mossop  out  of  the  house." 

We  are  here,  however,  anticipating  events.  Let  us  return  to 
chronological  order.  In  the  old  houses,  heavy  classical  tragedy 
seems  to  have  been  most  popular ;  and  when  Dublin  was  tired  of 
it,  the  company  took  it  to  Edinburgh.  Rough  times  of  war  closed 
the  house ;  but  when  William's  authority  was  firmly  established, 
theatrical  matters  looked  up  again,  and  in  March,  1692,  Ashbury, 
who,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Betterton,  had  instructed  the  Princess 
Anne  how  to  speak  and  act  Semandra,  in  "  Mithridates,"  when 
that  piece  was  played  at  Whitehall,  opened  the  house  with  "  Othel- 
lo," playing  lago  to  the  Moor  of  Robert  Wilks.  Among  this  early 
company  are  also  to  be  noted  Booth,  Estcourt,  Norris,  Bowen, 
and  Trefusis,  contributions  from  England,  and  the  latter  so  admirable 
for  dancing  the  rustic  clown,  that  General  Ingoldsby  once  handed 
him  a  £5  note  from  his  box  and  gave  him  a  second  when  Joe 
went  up  to  the  Castle  to  thank  him, — the  General  not  recognizing 
him  till  Trefusis  imitated  his  dialect  and  action  of  the  night 
before. 

The  ladies  were  not  in  force ;  Mrs.  Knightly,  Mrs.  Ashbury,  and 
Mrs.  Hook,  were  the  principal  under  Ashbury,  who  added  the 
names  of  Quin  and  the  two  Ellingtons,  and  Mrs.  Thurmond,  to  his 
company,  before  he  closed  a  management  of  about  thirty  years. 


THE   OLD   DUBLIN   THEATKE.  353 

In  that  period,  Ashbury  raised  the  Irish  stage  to  a  prosperous 
and  respectable  position.  His  son-in-law,  Thomas  Ehington,  suc- 
ceeded him  in  the  management. 

Under  Elrington's  rule,  young  Stirling  first  awaked  the  Irish 
muse  to  tragedy,  and  Charles  Shadwell  furnished  the  house  with 
half-a-dozen  pieces  of  very  inferior  merit.  Meanwhile,  in  1727, 
Madame  Violanti  opened  a  booth,  with  her  wondrous  rope-dancing 
and  her  Lilliputian  company,  whose  representation  of  the  "  Beg- 
gars' Opera"  excited  a  perfect  sensation.  The  Macheath  was  a 
Miss  Betty  Barnes ;  Polly,  Miss  Woffington ;  Peachem,  Master 
Isaac  Sparks ;  and  Filch,  Master  Barrington, — all  of  these  were, 
subsequently,  players  of  more  or  less  renown. 

Up  to  this  time,  the  best  native  actor  was  Wilks,  now  we  have 
Peg  Woffington;  in  1728  appeared  the  handsome  young  Delane, 
of  Trinity  College ;  his  graceful  figure,  full-toned  voice,  added  to 
his  zeal  and  application  (both  too  short-lived),  rendered  him  an 
unusual  favorite.  In  the  same  company  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ward, 
whose  daughter,  born  at  Clonrael,  was  the  mother  of  "  the 
Kembles." 

Elrington  died  in  1732.  He  was  the  first  actor  who  played 
Zanga,  in  Dublin ;  much  to  the  admiration  of  Dr.  Young,  who 
thought  Mills  mouthed  and  growled  the  character  overmuch. 
After  Elrington's  death,  disorder  sprung  up.  Smock  Alley  was 
opposed  by  a  new  theatre,  erected  in  Rainsford  Street,  in  the 
"  Earl  of  Meath's  Liberty,"  and  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  the 
mayor.  At  the  former,  the  company,  including,  occasionally,  some 
of  the  best  actors  from  London,  was  better  than  the  house  which  was 
so  decayed,  that  a  new,  a  much  grander,  but  in  every  other  way  a 
less  efficient  house,  was  erected  in  Aungier  Street,  at  which  the 
tall,  cold  beauty,  the  ex-Quakeress,  Mrs.  Bellamy,  mother  of  George 
Anne  Bellamy,  was  a  principal  actress.  A  committee  of  noble- 
men managed  this  house,  with  the  usual  result  of  enormous  loss. 
Dublin  having  more  theatres  than  could  prove  profitable,  the 
old  theatre  in  Smock  Alley  was  pulled  down ;  but  a  new  one  was 
erected,  which  was  opened  in  December,  1735,  with  "Love  for 
Love,  in  which  Don  Duart  was  played  by  Cashel,  subsequently 
a  popular  Macheath.  He  was  one  of  the  many  actors  who  have 
died,  or  received  their  death-stroke,  on  the  stage.     While    acting 


354  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Frankly,  in  the  "Suspicious  Husband,"  at  Norwich,  in  1 748,  he 
was  smitten  by  apoplexy,  and  died  in  a  few  hours. 

The  Theatre  Royal  in  Aungier  Street  had  its  real  opponent  in 
this  house,  opened  by  license  of  the  Lord  Mayor,  in  the  more  cen- 
tral position,  in  Smock  Alley.  The  house  in  Rainsford  Street 
was  soon  closed.  London  performers,  who  were  sure  of  profitable 
benefits,  went  over  to  both  houses ;  but  I  much  prefer  to  remark 
that,  at  Aungier  Street,  in  February,  1737,  Margaret  Woffington, 
her  childhood  being  past,  first  appeared  as  an  actress,  in  the 
part  of  Ophelia.  Her  beauty,  grace — her  ease,  simplicity — her 
pretty  singing,  her  coquetry,  and  the  wonderful  "  finish"  of  the 
male  characters  she  afterwards  assumed,  gave  a  fortune  to  the 
theatre,  which  was  only  checked  by  the  famine  of  the  severe  winter 
1739-40,  during  which  the  houses  were  closed  for  three  months. 

This  theatre  in  Aungier  Street  had  a  company  so  powerful,  in- 
cluding Quin,  Delane  and  Mrs.  Gibber,  at  the  close  of  the  London 
season,  that,  on  its  reopening,  in  1741,  Smock  Alley,  with  Elring- 
ton,  Isaac  Sparks,  and  Mrs.  Furnival,  could  not  successfully  com- 
pete with  it ;  but  in  June,  1742,  Duval,  the  proprietor,  by  engaging 
GifFard,  Mrs.  Wofiington,  and  Garrick,  turned  the  scale,  and  during 
three  of  the  hottest  months  of  the  hottest  summer  ever  known, 
attracted  crowds  to  Smock  Alley,  and  spread  fever  over  the  city  ! 

After  success,  and  when  the  great  players  had  disappeared, 
came  reaction,  empty  houses,  tumblers,  rope-dancers,  equestrian- 
ism,— and  nightly  losses.  On  the  29th  of  January,  1743,  however, 
the  town  felt  a  new  sensation,  afl;brded  by  the  acting  of  a  "  young 
gentleman"  in  Richard,  at  Smock  Alley.  The  Mithridates  of  the 
debutant  was  as  successful  as  Richard,  and  then  the  young  actor 
was  known  to  be  the  son  of  Dr.  Sheridan,  a  young  man  of  three- 
and-twenty,  whose  appearance  on  the  stage  brought  great  vexa- 
tion to  all  his  friends  ;  but  also  much  reputation  to  himself,  in 
Richard,  Brutus,  Hamlet,  Othello,  Cato,  and  the  highest  walks 
of  comedy. 

A  curious  incident  carried  Sheridan  to  the  rival  house  in 
Aungier  Street.  One  night  in  July,  1743,  his  robe  for  Cato  was 
not  forthcoming  from  the  Smock  Alley  wardrobe,  and  Sheridao 
refused  to  play  without  it.  Theophilus  Gibber  was  theie,  among 
the  Ijondon  birds  of  passage.     He  wns  cast  for  Syphax,  and  hia 


THE    OLD    DUBLIN    THEATRE.  355 

offer  to  read  the  part  of  Cato  and  play  his  own  was  accepted. 
Cato  and  Syphax  are  never  on  the  stage  together ;  but  in  the 
second  act,  Theophilus  must  have  been  put  to  it,  for  there,  Syphax 
enters  close  upon  the  heels  of  the  retiring  Cato. 

How  the  "  numerous  and  polite  audience"  enjoyed  the  piece 
thus  represented,  1  cannot  say  ;  a  paper  war  ensued,  and  Sheridan 
passed  to  the  other  house.  But  two  houses  could  not  exist,  and  an 
agreement  was  at  length  made  to  consolidate  the  two  companies, 
and  to  open  at  Aungier  Street,  whereupon  the  rejected  actors, 
of  course,  opened  Smock  Alley,  and  thence  came  confusion  worse 
confounded,  till  Sheridan,  quarrelling  with  the  proprietors  at 
Aungier  Street,  passed  back  to  Smock  Alley,  and  did  something 
towards  retrieving  its  fortunes.  But  he  was  ill  seconded,  and  in 
March,  ]  744,  flushed  by  his  new  honors,  he  crossed  the  Channel, 
and  appeared  at  Covent  Garden. 

And  now  instead  of  two  companies  in  one  house,  Dublin  saw 
one  company  alternately  playing  in  two  houses,  with  little  profit, 
till  on  the  night  of  February  15th,  1744,  "Othello"  was  given 
at  Smock  Alley,  the  part  of  Othello  by  Spranger  Barry  (lago, 
Wright;  Desdemona,  Mrs.  Bailey).  His  noble  person,  his  har- 
monious voice,  his  transitions  from  love  to  jealousy,  from  tender- 
ness to  rage,  enchanted  the  audience,  though  in  some  respects 
the  performance  was  unfinished.  His  principal  characters  were 
Othello,  Pierre,  Hotspur,  Lear,  Henry  V.,  Orestes,  and  that  once 
favorite  comedy-character  with  young  tragedians,  Bevil,  jun. 
Barry  filled  the  house  every  night  he  played ;  but,  I  suppose,  a 
feature  of  Irish  management,  he  played  only  occasionally.  Foote, 
in  this  his  first  Irish  season,  drew  a  few  good  houses ;  but  Barry 
was  the  chief  attraction.  He  was  opposed  by  the  old  ejected 
comedians,  who  opened  a  temporary  house  in  Capel  Street,  which, 
however,  was  soon  closed. 

Under  mismanaging  committees  of  noblemen,  three  dozen  in 
number,  with  seven  wise  men  for  a  quorum,  aftairs  went  ill,  and 
Sheridan  was,  at  length,  invited  from  England  to  take  sole  gov- 
ernment, and  restore  order  and  profit  where  anarchy  and  poverty 
reigned.  This  Sheridan  effected,  by  degrees,  aided  by  his  judg- 
ment, industry,  zeal,  perseverance,  and  unflinching  honesty. 
During  his  first  season,  1745-6,  he  produced,  first,  Miss  Bellamy, 


350  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

on  November  11th,  at  Aungier  Street,  in  the  "  Orphan,"  to  the  Cas- 
talio  of  Barry,  and  his  own  Chamont ;  and  in  the  following  month, 
Garrick  appeared  as  Hamlet.  In  the  "  Fair  Penitent"  Garrick, 
Barry,  and  Sheridan  played  together  to  the  Calista  of  Mrs.  Furni- 
val ;  and  "  All  for  Love"  was  cast  with  Anthony,  Barry ;  Ventid- 
iiis,  Sheridan;  Cleopatra,  Miss  Bellamy  ;  Octavia,  Mrs.  Furnival ; 
*  Jarrick  and  Sheridan  played  Richard  and  Hamlet  alternately,  and 
each  in  turn  played  lago  to  Barry's  Othello.  The  following  sea- 
son brought  Barry  to  England,  where  he  laid  the  foundations  of 
a  great  professional  glory,  which  endured  as  long  as  Gairick's, 
though  it  was  somewhat  tarnished  and  enfeebled,  yet  still  second 
only  to  Garrick's,  towards  its  close. 


GARRICK  AND   QUIN  ,   GARRICK  AND  BARRY.        357 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

GARRICK    AND    QUIN  ;    GARRICK    AND    BARRY. 

This  new  actor,  Spranger  Barry,  who  has  come  to  London  to 
wrestle,  as  it  were,  with  Garrick,  is  now  in  his  twenty-seventh 
year,  and  has  been  but  two  years,  brief  novitiate,  on  the  Irish 
stage.  He  had  previously  followed,  with  some  reluctance,  the 
vocation  of  his  father,  that  of  silversmith ;  but,  respectable  and  lu- 
crative as  it  was,  the  stage  had  more  attraction  for  him,  and 
thither  he  went  in  pursuit  of  fame  and  fortune,  nor  missed  the 
object  he  pursued  so  steadily.  His  success  in  Ireland  was  great 
at  a  time  when  there  was  a  body  of  players  there,  which  for  ability 
has  certainly  never  been  surpassed.  Spranger  was  very  well  con- 
nected, and  it  was  by  the  counsel  of  his  kinsman.  Sir  Edward 
Barry,  that  he  turned  his  face  towards  London,  and  resolved  to 
try  a  fall  there  with  David  Garrick. 

His  first  appearance  was  at  Drury  Lane,  October  2,  1746,  in 
the  character  of  Othello  ;  lago,  Macklin  ;  Cassio,  Mills ;  Roderigo, 
Yates ;  Desdemona,  Mrs.  Ridout ;  Emilia,  Mrs.  Macklin.  What 
aspirant  entering  on  a  struggle  of  a  similar  nature,  now,  would  be 
gratified  with  such  notice  as  the  press,  in  the  General  Advertiser, 
awarded  to  the  new  actor,  on  this  occasion  ?  "  Barry  performed 
Othello  before  a  numerous  and  polite  audience,  and  met  with  as 
great  applause  as  could  he  expected.''^ 

And  the  triumph  was  as  great  as  the  player  could  have  hoped 
for.  In  some  things,  Barry  profited  by  the  suggestions  and 
teaching  of  Macklin  ;  and  the  fact  that  for  nearly  eighty  nights, 
about  half  of  which  were  given  to  Othello,  Lord  Townley,  and 
Macbeth,  Barry  drew  crowded  houses,  will  show  that  a  new  and 
dangerous  rival  had  sprung  up  in  Garrick's  path,  at  the  moment 
he  was  contending  with  a  skilled  and  older  rival  at  Covent  Gar- 
den. In  the  earlier  part  of  the  season,  Garrick  had  played  Ham- 
let, King  Lear,  Richard,  Archer,  Bayes,  and  Chamont;  Quin  had 


358  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

played  Richard,  with  no  success ;  Cato,  Bajazet,  and  Sir  Jotn 
Brute.  The  two  met  together  for  the  first  time  in  the  same  piece, 
on  the  14th  of  November,  1746,  in  the  "  Fair  Penitent ;"  Horatio, 
Quia  ;  Lothario,  Garrick  ;  Altamont,  Ryan  ;  Calista,  Mrs.  Gibber. 

This  was  the  greatest  theatrical  event  that  had  occurred  for 
years ;  and  when  the  actor  of  the  old  school  and  he  of  the  new 
met  on  the  stage,  in  the  second  act,  the  audience,  who  now  first 
saw  them,  as  they  had  long  wished  to  see  them,  face  to  face,  ab- 
solutely disconcerted  them  by  a  hui-ricane  of  greeting — a  perfect 
storm  of  gratulation,  expressed  in  every  way  that  applause  can 
be  given,  but  in  louder  and  longer  peals  than  had  ever  been  heard 
by  actors  of  that  "generation."  When  it  had  passed,  every  word 
was  breathlessly  listened  to ;  every  action  marked.  Some  were 
won  by  the  grand  emphasis  and  the  moral  dignity  of  Quin  ;  others 
by  the  grace,  spirit,  and  happy  wickedness  of  Garrick,  Between 
them,  it  was  difficult  to  award  the  palm  of  supreme  distinction  to 
either — and  Mrs.  Gibber  was,  for  once,  forgotten.  They  subse- 
quently played  together  Falstaff  and  Hotspur ;  and  Hastings  and 
Glo'ster,  repeatedly,  in  "  Jane  Shore."  Glo'ster  was  one  of  Quin's 
"  strut  and  whisker  parts,"  and  Garrick  had  such  advantage  over 
him  in  Hastings,  that  "  the  scale  was  now  completely  turned  in 
Garrick's  favor." 

Was  it  from  fear  that  Garrick  declined  to  play  Jaffier  to  Quin's 
Pierre?  It  could  not  have  arisen  from  fatigue,  as  alleged,  for 
Garrick  wrote  a  capital  farce,  "  Miss  in  her  Teens,"  and  played 
Fribble  in  it,  and  then  created  Ranger,  in  Dr.  Hoadley's  "  Suspi- 
cious Husband,"  in  which  Quin  declined  the  part  of  Mr.  Strick- 
land, and  gave  to  Bridgwater  the  one  opportunity  which  he  seized, 
of  being  considered  an  actor.  In  Ranger,  Garrick  surpassed  even 
what  old  play-goers  could  recollect  of  comic  excellence.  His 
"  Neck  or  nothing ;  up  I  go  !"  became  a  popular  saying,  and  the 
rendering  it  was  a  tradition  on  the  stage,  from  his  days  to  the 
days  of  Elliston,  the  gentlemanly  impudence,  and  the  incompai'a- 
ble  grace  of  whose  Ranger  is  still  remembered  by  many  among 
us. 

The  originality  of  style  and  expression  in  this  comedy  dis- 
pleased Quin.  He  was  a  conservative,  and  disliked  innovation ; 
contemptuously  called  the  piece  a  speaking  pantomime — forgetful 


GARRICK  AND  QUIN  ;  GARRICK  AND  BARRY.   359 

that  the  old  comedies  were  often  much  more  farcical  (which  is  what 
he  meant)  in  their  incident,  and  when  a  name  for  it  was  being 
discussed,  suggested  scornfully  "The  Hat  and  Ladder."  Some 
of  Hoadley's  friends  kindly  foretold  failure,  in  order  to  afford  con- 
solation after  a  kind.     Thence  the  epigram  of  one  of  them  : — 

"  Dear  doctor,  if  your  comic  muse  don't  please, 
Turn  to  your  tragic,  and  write  recipes." 

Not  merely  as  a  character  piece,  but  for  construction  of  plot, 
simplicity  and  grace  of  style,  and  comparative  purity  of  speech 
and  action,  the  "  Suspicious  Husband"  is  the  best  comedy  the 
eighteenth  century  had,  up  to  this  time,  produced.  It  has  a  good 
story  clearly  and  rapidly  developed,  and  the  persons  of  the  drama 
are  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  not  the  dully-vivacious  ruffians  and 
the  unclean  hussies  of  the  Aphra  Behn,  the  Etherege,  and  Sedley 
period.  The  writer  was  a  "  royal  physician,"  and  son  to  the  fa- 
mous bishop,  who,  for  his  opposition  to  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
tyranny,  was  treated  as  if  he  were  an  infidel.  The  bishop  did  not 
go  to  witness  his  son's  play ;  but  as  all  the  Hoadleys  had  a  the- 
atrical turn,  I  feel  sure  he  and  his  family  read  it,  with  many  a 
cheery  laugh,  in  the  old  room  at  Chelsea.  George  H.  certainly 
did  so  at  Windsor,  and  saw  it,  too,  at  the  Garden,  and  was  so 
well  pleased  with  his  physician,  the  author,  that  he  gratefully  sent 
him  the  handsome  fee  of  £100. 

Garrick  came  oft"  so  well  in  his  contest  with  Quin,  that  he  prob- 
ably had  no  fears  of  trying  the  fall  to  which  he  was  challenged, 
with  Barry.  For  this  struggle  Spranger  Barry  passed  over  to 
Drury  Lane,  to  wrestle  with  David  on  his  own  ground.  Drury 
may  be  called  peculiarly  his,  for  by  purchasing  a  share  in  the 
patent,  he  now  commenced  that  career  of  management  which 
lasted  during  his  theatrical  life,  and  the  brilliancy  of  which  waa 
spoken  of  in  every  part  of  the  world  where  an  interest  was  felt  in 
the  intellectual  enjoyments  of  the  people. 

The  Drury  Lane  season  of  1747-8  found  Garrick  joint-patentee 
with  Lacy ;  Garrick  directing  the  stage  without  interference,  and 
receiving  between  six  and  seven  hundred  a  year,  as  an  actor,  ex- 
clusive of  his  profits  as  part-proprietor.  Gai'rick's  company  included 
Barry,  Macklin,  Delane,  Havard,  Mills,  Yates,  Barrington,  Sparks, 


3G0  DUliAN  S    ANXALo   OF   THE   STAGE. 

ho.ve;  and  Mrs.   rritclKird,  Mrs.   Gibber,   Mrs.  Woffingtoii,   Mrs. 
Clive,  and  other  bright,  but  lesser  stars. 

Ill  this  season  the  chief  attractions  were  Macklin's  Shylock, 
Barry's  Hamlet,  Othello,  and  Pierre;  and  in  less  degree,  his  Baja- 
zct,  Henry  V.,  and  Orestes.  Garrick  drew  full  houses  by  Archer 
and  Abel  Drugger,  Lear  and  Richard,  Sir  John  Brute  and  Plume, 
Hamlet  and  Macbeth;  but  the  greatest  attraction  of  all  was  when 
Garrick  and  Barry  played  together,  as  Chamont  and  Castalio 
("Orphan"),  Hastings  and  Dumont  (''Jane  Shore"),  Lothario 
and  Horatio  ("  Fair  Penitent"),  and  Jaffier  and  Pierre.  Against 
such  atti'actions  as  were  here  presented,  with  the  addition  of  Mrs. 
Woffington  as  Sir  Harry  AVildair,  and  Mrs.  Clive,  in  all  that  was 
light,  airy,  impertinent,  and  tuneful — Covent  Garden  was  more 
than  usually  weak.  The  latter,  however,  depended  on  the  "  Beg- 
gars' Opera,"  on  Ryan  and  Delane,  the  younger  Gibber,  the  Gif- 
fards,  and  especially  Mrs.  Horton ;  Woodward  was  in  Ireland. 
Quin  had  withdrawn  to  Bath.  Garrick's  triumphs  had  soured 
him.  He  desired  to  be  asked  back,  but  Rich  would  not  humor 
him.     The  one  wrote,  "  I  am  at  Bath;  yours,  James  Quin:"  and 

the    other   answered,  "  Stay   there    and    be    d ;    youns,  John 

Ptich."  The  old  actor  returned,  however,  to  play  Othello,  without 
fee,  on  occasion  of  a  "  charity  benetit."  Drury  Lane  alone  pro- 
duced a  new  piece,  with  new  characters  for  Garrick  and  Barry, 
namely,  Moore's  "Foundling,"  in  which  Garrick  played  Young 
Belmont  with  great  eclat ;  Barry,  Sir  Gharles  Raymond,  with  dig- 
nity and  tenderness;  and  Macklin,  a  knavish  fop,  Faddle,  with 
wonderful  power. 

Moore,  like  Gay,  had  originally  served  in  a  draper's  shop,  and 
like  Gay,  wrote  "  Fables," — "  for  the  female  sex."  His  "  Found- 
ling" bears  some  resemblance  to  the  "Gonscious  Lovers ;"  but 
there  is  more  art  in  the  construction  of  the  plot,  and  it  is  far  purer 
than  that  piece  which  was  written  to  inaugurate  an  era  of  purity. 
In  the  part  of  Faddle,  he  satirized  a  well-known  individual  named 
Russell,  who  was  the  delight  of  ladies  of  ton,  because  of  his  good 
looks,  crowning  impudence,  and  his  "  imitations"  of  opera-singers. 
These  qualities  made  him  a  guest,  for  whom  ladies  contended ; 
and  some  displeasure  arose,  in  aristocratic  breasts,  at  Macklin's 
close  mimicry  of  the  man, — who,  after  all,  on  being  arrested  for 


GARRICK   AND   QUIN;   GARRICK   AND   BARRY.        361 

a  debt  of  £40,  was  left  to  pine,  starve,  and  finally  to  die  mad, 
in  the  Fleet  prison.  Such  was  the  fate  of  this  once  favorite  of 
fashioiv. 

With  the  season  of  1748-9,  came  increase  of  opposition  between 
the  two  houses.  At  Drm-y  Lane,  Garrick  and  Barry  played  alternate- 
ly Hamlet  and  Macbeth, — the  Hamlet  of  Garrick  drawing  by  far  the 
greater  crowds.  In  the  same  pieces,  they  played, — Barry,  Henry 
v.,  Garrick,  the  Chorus ;  Garrick,  Horatio,  Barry,  Lothario ;  Gar- 
rick, Othello,  Barry,  lago ;  and  Mahomet,  by  Barry,  to  the  Deme- 
trius of  Garrick,  in  Johnson's  "  L-ene."  Garrick  also  revived  "  A 
New  Way  to  pay  Old  Debts,"  in  which  King,  springing  from  a 
coffee-house,  acted  AUworth,  with  great  spirit  and  delicacy.  It  is 
strange  that  Garrick  failed  to  perceive  the  golden  opportunity  he 
might  have  had  as  Sir  Giles  ;  he  assigned  the  part  to  an  inferior 
actor,  named  Bridges,  and  preferred  playing  Fribble,  in  "  Miss  in 
Her  Teens."  Garrick's  greatest  triumph  this  season  was  in  play- 
ing Benedict  to  the  Beatrice  of  Mrs.  Pritchard.  The  town  had 
not  had  so  exquisite  a  delight  for  many  a  long  day ;  and  Garrick's 
happiness  would  have  been  supreme,  but  for  the  fact  that  Barry 
and  Mrs.  Gibber  produced  as  great  a  sensation,  though  of  another 
quality,  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.  This  last  piece  was  not  repeated, — 
to  the  great  annoyance  of  Barry ;  and  Garrick,  at  the  close  of  the 
season,  married  the  pretty  Violetta,  to  the  intense  disgust  of  Mrs. 
Woffington,  who  now  joined  Rich. 

At  Covent  Garden,  Quin,  Delane,  Ryan,  Mrs.  Woffington,  Mrs. 
Horton,  and  Miss  Bellamy,  were  the  chief  attractions.  Quin 
played  many  parts  which  Gai'rick  would  not  attempt.  Of  those 
played  by  both  actors,  Quin  is  said  to  have  surpassed  Garrick,  in 
Sir  John  Brute.  But  the  most  exciting  event  of  this  season,  was 
the  abduction  of  Miss  Bellamy,  while  playing  Mrs.  Fanciful,  to 
Quin's  Brute.  A  gentleman,  named  Metham,  begged  to  be  al- 
lowed to  speak  with  her  in  the  hall  of  the  theatre,  and  thence 
carried  her  off  and  bore  her  away,  little  loth,  I  think,  in  his  car- 
riage. Quin  explained  the  matter  to  the  audience,  who  enjoyed 
it,  as  a  good  thing  done  and  a  pleasant  thing  to  bear  of. 

While  the  houses  were  thus  contending,  Footc  was  filling  the 
little  theatre  in  the  Haymarket  with  an  entertainment  of  his  own; 
but  there  were  authors  of  a  higher  class  offering  more  intellectual 
Vol.  L— 16 


362  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

pieces  to  the  town.  Fourteen  years  before,  when  Sanmel  Johnson 
was  keeping  school  near  Lichfield,  he  wrote  his  tragedy,  "  Irene," 
which,  in  its  rough  state,  he  brought  to  London,  when  he  and 
Garrick  came  up  together,  in  search  of  fortune.  With  poet,  aa 
with  actor,  the  aspects  of  life  had  improved ;  but  most  with  the 
latter.  Johnson,  now  about  forty,  had  been  long  known  for  hia 
London,  and  had  at  this  time  put  the  finishing  touches  to  hia 
Vanity  of  Human  Wishes.  Garrick  produced  his  friend's  trage- 
dy, and  Johnson  was  present  on  the  first  night,  in  gala  dress,  but 
not  to  be  crowned,  as  Voltaire  was,  when  the  lively  old  French- 
man attended  the  representation  of  his  "  Irene."  For  nine  nights, 
yielding  the  poet  three  benefits, — Garrick,  Demetrius ;  Barry, 
Mahomet ;  and  Mrs.  Gibber  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  as  Aspasia  and 
Irene,  exerted  themselves, — with  indifferent  success.  There  is  no 
local  color  in  this  Turkish  piece ;  the  language  and  sentiment  are 
elevated,  but  they  are  never  oriental  in  form  or  spirit.  The  unities 
are  strictly  preserved,  but  not  nature  ;  and  therewith  the  piece  was 
set  aside, — and  Johnson  never  tried  the  drama  again. 

In  this  season,  too,  kindlj^  over-speculating,  fanciful  Aaron 
Hill,  brought  his  efforts  to  a  close,  with  "  Merope ;"  and  creditably, 
although  he  challenged  comparison  with  Corneille,  and  in  some 
things  was  allowed  to  have  stood  it  with  advantage.  The  piece 
was  successful,  but  the  author  did  not  live  to  profit  by  it.  Hia 
family  were  weeping  for  his  death,  while  audiences  were  shedding 
tears  at  the  acting  of  Garrick,  Dorilas  ;  and  JSIrs.  Pritchard,  Merope. 
Not  only  did  this  tragedy  long  hold  the  stage,  but  the  subject  of 
a  mother  suffering  because  of  a  lost  son,  was  so  agreeable,  it  would 
seem,  that  Browne,  Whitehead,  and  Home,  adopted  it  in  "  Bar- 
barossa,"  "  Creusa,"  and  "  Douglas." 

Covent  Garden,  too,  had  its  classical  tragedy,  in  "  Coriolanus," 
brought  forward  by  Quin,  after  his  friend  Thomson's  death.  Quin 
played  the  hero  of  Thoinson's  play ;  Ryan,  Tullius ;  Delane,  Gale- 
sus ;  Mrs.  Wofl[ington,  Veturia ;  and  Miss  Bellamy,  Volumnia. 
This  tragedy  is  Avorth  reading,  if  it  be  only  to  see  how  very  civil 
and  colloquial  the  hot  leader  of  the  Volsci  could  be  made  by  the 
Scottish  poet  in  Kew  Lane.  In  Shakspeare's  tragedy,  we  have 
the  annals  of  a  life  put  into  action.  In  Thomson's,  as  in  Laharpe's 
"  Coriolan,"  we  have  a  single  incident  diluted  through  five  acts; — 


GARRICK   AND    Ql'lN  ;    GARRICK   AND   BARRY.       363 

the  secession  from  Rome,  and  its  consequences,  forming  the  staple 
of  a  play  which  ends  with  a  tag  of  trotting  rhymes,  which  are  as 
natural,  and  not  half  so  amusing,  as  if  the  grave  speaker  of  them 
had  danced  a  hornpipe  in  his  cothirni. 

In  1749-50,  symptoms  were  discernible  of  a  break-up  in  the 
Drury  Lane  company.  Mrs.  Gibber,  at  odds  with  Garrick,  with- 
drew ;  and  Barry,  not  allowed  to  play  Romeo,  was  often  indis- 
i)osed  to  act  in  other  plays.  So  it  was  said ;  but  he  publicly  pro- 
tested against  any  feigned  indisposition.  He  repeated  many  of 
his  old  parts  with  Garrick,  and  created  Publius  Iloratius  to  Gar- 
rick's  Horatius,  in  AVhitehead's  "  Roman  Father,"  At  Covent 
Garden,  Delane  exerted  his  dying  eft'orts  fruitlessly  against  Barry ; 
and  Woffington  opposed  Woodward  in  Sir  Harry  Wildair. 

The  above  tragedy,  by  the  son  of  a  Cambridge  baker,  and  one 
of  Clare  Hall's  most  honored  Fellows,  was  not  the  only  novelty 
produced  at  Drury  ;— whither  William  Shirley  brought  from  Por- 
tugal, where  he  had  written  it  in  his  leisure  hours,  his  "  Edward, 
the  Black  Piince."  Garrick  played  Edward  ;  Barry,  Rebemont ; 
and  Mrs.  Ward,  Marianne.  It  will  suffice,  as  a  sample  of  Shirley's 
insight  into  the  Prince's  character,  to  say,  that  he  makes  Edward, 
for  love  of  Marianne,  desert  to  the  French  side  !  A  more  absurd 
violation  of  history  was  never  perpetrated  by  poet.  In  the  way 
of  novelty,  excepting  pantomimic  trifles,  Covent  Garden  off'ered  no 
sign. 

The  latter  house  made  no  acquisitions  such  as  Drury  found  in 
King  and  in  Palmer.  Dyer,  however,  proved  a  useful  actor,  begin- 
ning his  career  with  Tom  Errand,  and  bringing  with  him  his  wife, 
the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Christopher  Bullock,  the  daughter  of  Wilks. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  Garden  lost  Delane,  whose  first  appear- 
ance at  Goodman's  Fields,  in  1730,  was  temporarily  menacing  to 
the  supreinacy  of  Quin,  as  Garrick's  was  permanently  so,  some 
years  later.  He  was  a  graceful  and  clever  actor,  but  there  was 
only  one  character  of  note  of  which  he  was  the  original  representa- 
tive— Mahomet. 

With  this  season  also  departed  the  actress  whom  Wilks  and 
Booth  looked  upon  as  the  legitimate  successor  of  Mrs.  Oldfield, 
namely,  Mrs.  Horton.  Steele  highly  praised  her  for  her  actin<r 
Lady  Brampton  in  his  "  Funeral."     Long  after  youth  was  passed 


364  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

she  retained  a  luxuriant  beauty,  which  was  the  envy  of  less  richly 
endowed  ladies.  She  loved  homage  rendered  to  her  charms,  and 
was  grateful  for  it,  however  humble  he  who  paid  it.  In  her  best 
days  all  young  London  was  sighing  at  her  feet,  and  in  the  meridian 
of  her  sunny  time  she  invited  adoration  by  the  most  exquisite 
coquetry.  About  this  time  her  powers  began  so  to  decay  that 
Rich  only  estimated  her  worth  at  £4  per  week.  Between  Mrs. 
Woffington  and  Mrs.  Pritchard  she  suffered  shipwreck.  Mrs. 
Horton  was  an  artificial  actress,  the  other  two  were  of  an  opposite 
quality ;  Mrs.  Pritchard  especially  captivated  the  public  by  her 
natural  and  intelligible  style  of  speaking.  Davies  says, — Mrs. 
Horton  had  a  small  annuity,  and  that  Garrick  and  Lacy  added  to 
it  by  giving  her  a  "  part  of  a  benefit."  She  had,  however,  other 
resources.  When  Lord  Orford  patronized  Lord  Luxborough, 
eldest  son  of  Knight,  of  South  Sea  Company  notoriety,  people 
could  not  account  for  it,  but  Horace  Walpole  could.  "  Lord 
Luxborough,"  he  writes  to  Mann,  "  keeps  Mrs.  Horton,  the  player ; 
we  (Orford)  keep  Miss  Norsa,  the  player.  Rich,  the  harlequin, 
is  an  intimate  of  all ;  and  to  cement  the  harlequinity,  somebody's 
brother  (excuse  me  if  I  am  not  perfect  in  such  genealogy)  is  to 
marry  the  Jewess's  sister."  In  this  wise  did  the  stage  in  those 
days  act  upon  politics.  The  Miss  Norsa,  above-named,  had  been 
a  singer  of  some  repute,  and  Orford,  then  Lord  Walpole,  had 
taken  her  off  the  stage  with  the  concurrence  of  her  parents,  to 
whom  he  gave  a  bond  by  which  he  engaged  to  marry  her  as  soon 
as  his  wife  should  die !  His  wife,  however,  happily  outlived  him. 
Horace  Walpole,  writing  to  Mann  from  Houghton,  in  1743,  says: 
— "  Lord  Walpole  has  taken  a  dozen  pictures  to  Stanno,  a  small 
house,  about  four  miles  from  hence,  where  he  lives  with  my  Lady 
Walpole's  vicegerent.  You  may  imagine  that  her  deputies  are  no 
fitter  than  she  is  to  come  where  there  is  a  modest,  unmarried 
girl."  This  girl  was  Maria  Walpole,  daughter  of  Sir  Robert.,  and 
subsequently  the  wife  of  Colonel  Churchill,  one  of  Mrs.  Oldficld's 
sons. 

Six-and-thirty  years  had  Mrs.  Horton  been  on  the  stage  (1714- 
1750),  and  in  all  that  time  she  was  the  original  representative  of 
only  one  character,  Mariana,  in  the  "  Miser." 

And  now  we  come  to  the  fainous   Romeo  and  Juliet  season. 


GARRICK  AND  QUIN  ;  GARRICK  AND  BARRY.    305 

tliat  of  1750-51,  in  which  Ganick  and  Barry  were  the  rival 
Ronieos,  Miss  Bellamy  and  Mrs.  Gibber  the  opposing  Juliets. 
Barry,  by  passing  to  Govent  Garden,  was  enabled  to  play  with 
Quin,  in  "Othello,"  the  "Orphan,"  "Jane  Shore,"  "Henry  V.," 
"Julias  Gicsar,"  "Distressed  Mother,"  "Fair  Penitent,"  "Tamer- 
lane," and  "King  John."  In  these,  Barry's  Falconbridge  was 
alone  a  failure,  and  Quin  held  his  own  so  well  that  his  terms  for 
the  season  were  £1,000,  the  largest  sum  ever  yet  received  by  Eng- 
lish actor ;  but  his  Richard  was  as  little  a  success  as  Barry's  Fal- 
conbridge. Garrick,  Mrs.  Pritchard,  and  Miss  Bellamy  appeared 
together  in  "Zara;"  at  the  other  house,  Barry,  Mrs.  Gibber,  and 
Mrs.  WofRngton,  in  the  "  Gonscious  Lovers."  Mrs.  Gibber,  as  In- 
diana, made  a  great  point  by  her  delivery  of  such  simple  words  as 
these  :  "  Sir,  if  you  will  pay  the  money  to  a  servant,  it  will  do  as 
well."  Barry  and  Mrs.  WofEngton  in  Lord  and  Lady  Townley, 
and  Quin  and  Mrs.  Woffington  in  "  Macbeth,"  were  among  the 
attractions  of  Govent  Garden,  added  to  which  was  Rich's  Harlequin  ; 
but  for  that  also  Garrick  found  a  rival  in  Woodward,  who  played 
the  motley  hero  as  he  played  every  thing,  with  care  and  eifect. 

But  all  these  matters  were  as  nothing  when  compared  with  the 
rival  Romeos  and  Juliets.  They  appeared  on  the  same  night,  at 
their  respective  houses,  the  28th  of  September,  1750.  At  Go- 
vent Gaixlen,  the  public  had  Romeo,  Barry ;  Mercutio,  Macklin ; 
Juliet,  Mrs.  Gibber.  At  Drury,  Romeo,  Garrick  ;  Mercutio,  Wood- 
ward ;  Juliet,  Miss  Bellamy.  On  the  first  night  Barry  spoke  a 
poor  prologue,  in  which  it  was  insinuated  that  the  arrogance  and 
selfishness  of  Garrick  had  driven  him  and  Mrs.  Gibber  from  Govent 
Garden.  Garrick,  ready  to  repel  assault,  answered  in  a  lively, 
good-natured  epilogue,  delivered  saucily  by  Mrs.  Glive. 

It  was  considered  a  wonderful  circumstance  that  this  play  ran 
for  twelve  nights  successively  ;  Garrick  played  it  thirteen,  to  show 
that  he  was  not  beaten  from  the  field  !  At  that  period  the  Lon- 
doners, who  were  constant  play-goers,  demanded  a  frequent 
rhange  of  performance  ;  and  the  few  country  folk  then  in  town  felt 
aggrieved  that  one  play  should  keep  the  stage  during  the  whole 
fortnight  they  were  in    London.     Thence  the    well-known    epi- 


366  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"  *  Well,  what's  to-night  ?'  says  angry  Ned, 
As  up  from  bed  he  rouses ; 
'  Romeo  again  I'  he  shakes  his  head; 
'  A  plague  on  both  your  houses  1'  " 

Contemporary  journals,  indeed,  affirm  that  the  audiences  grew 
thin  towards  the  end  of  the  fortnight,  but  this  seems  doubtful,  aa 
Barry's  twenty-third  representation,  in  the  course  of  the  season, 
was  given  expressly  on  account  of  the  great  number  of  persons 
who  were  unable  to  obtain  admission  to  his  twenty-second 
performance. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Mrs.  Gibber  had  the  handsomer,  more 
silver-tongued,  and  tender  lover.  She  seemed  to  listen  to  him  in 
a  sort  of  modest  ecstasy ;  while  Miss  Bellamy,  eager  love  in  her 
eyes,  rapture  in  her  heart,  and  amorous  impatience  in  every  ex- 
pression, was  ready  to  fling  herself  into  Romeo's  arms.  In  Barry's 
Romeo,  the  critics  laud  his  harmony  of  feature,  his  melting  eyes, 
and  his  unequalled  plaintiveness  of  voice.  In  the  garden  scenes 
of  the  second  and  fourth  acts,  and  in  the  first  part  of  the  scene  in 
the  tomb,  were  Barry's  most  eftective  points.  Garrick's  great 
scenes  were  with  the  Friar  and  the  Apothecary.  Miss  Bellamy 
declared  that  in  the  scene  with  the  Friar,  alone,  was  Garrick 
superior  to  Barry ;  Macklin  swore  that  Barry  excelled  his  rival, 
in  every  scene. 

The  Juliets,  too,  divided  the  public  judgment.  Some  were  taken 
by  the  amorous  rapture,  the  loveliness,  and  the  natural  style  of 
Bellamy ;  others  were  moved  by  the  grander  beauty,  the  force, 
and  the  tragic  expression  of  distress  and  despair  which  distin- 
guished Mrs.  Gibber.  Perhaps,  after  all,  the  truest  idea  of  the 
two  Romeos  may  be  gathered  from  the  remark  of  a  lady  who  did 
not  pretend  to  be  a  critic,  and  who  was  guided  by  her  feelings. 
"  Had  I  been  Juliet,"  she  said,  "  to  Garrick's  Romeo, — so  ardent 
and  impassioned  was  he,  I  should  have  expected  that  he  would 
have  come  up  to  me  in  the  balcony ;  but  had  I  been  Juliet  to 
Barry's  Romeo, — so  tender,  so  eloquent,  and  so  seductive  was  he, 
I  should  certainly  have  ffone  doion  to  him  !" 

Respectively,  Barry  acted  Romeo  twenty-three,  Garrick,  nme- 
teen,  times  this  season, — a  season  of  which  there  is  nothing  more 


GAKRICK  AND  QUIN  ;  GARRICK  AND  BARRY,   367 

to  be  said,  save  that  Garrick  created  the  part  of  Gil  Bias,  in 
Moore's  comedy  of  that  name,  and  that  he  produced  Mallet's  ver- 
sion of  "  Alfred," — playing  the  king. 

At  this  time,  the  poets  were  not  inspired,  or  managers  conld 
dispense  with  them,  so  attractive  were  the  old  actors  in  old  pieces, 
with  new  actors — -"Shuter,  Palmer,  and  Miss  Macklin — aiding 
them.  Thus,  in  the  season  1751-2,  Covent  Garden,  save  in  a 
burletta,  called  the  "  Oracle,"  relied  on  its  stock-pieces  ;  and  Drury 
only  produced  Foote's  farce, — "  Taste,"  in  which  Worsdale,  the 
painter,  who  kept,  starved,  beat,  and  lived  upon  Laetitia  Pilking- 
ton,  played  Lady  Pcntweazle  with  humorous  effect ; — and  "  Eu- 
genia," a  tragedy,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Francis,  the  father  of  Sir 
Philip,  in  which  there  was  the  coarseness  of  sentiment,  but  none 
of  the  beauty  of  language  or  tenderness  of  feeling  of  Otway.  Yet 
it  was  approved  by  Chesterfield,  who  sneered  at  the  pit  and  gal- 
lery as  "  common  people  who  must  have  objects  that  strike  the 
senses,  and  are  only  moved  by  the  sufferings  they  see,  and  even 
then,  must  be  dyed  with  the  blood."  But  this  is  untrue,  although 
my  lord  said  it,  for  Johnson's  "  Irene"  failed  because  of  the  stran- 
gling of  the  heroine  in  presence  of  the  audience  ;  and  it  was  only 
tolerated,  during  its  brief  run,  after  the  killing  was  described  and 
not  performed. 

I  have  said  that  the  managers  relied  on  the  actors  and  not  on 
the  poets.  In  return,  the  actors  exerted  themselves  to  the  very 
utmost.  Mrs.  Gibber  was  as  much  stirred  by  Miss  Bellamy,  as 
Barry  by  Garrick,  and  the  reverse.  In  "  Jane  Shore,"  for  in- 
stance, Mrs.  Gibber,  who  played  Alicia  to  the  Jane  of  pretty  and 
modest  Miss  Macklin,  seemed,  on  the  25th  of  October,  especially, 
to  be  inspired  "  with  something  more  than  mortal."  Though 
Alicia  had  always  been  looked  on  as  one  of  her  very  best  charac- 
ters, yet  this  night's  performance  she  never  equalled,  before  nor 
since. 

In  this  season,  Barry  acted  Romeo  twelve,  Garrick  only  six, 
times ;  but  the  latter  introduced  a  new  opposition  to  his  formida- 
ble rival,  in  the  persons  of  Mossop  and  Ross,  both  from  Ireland. 
Mossop  first  appeared  in  Richard,  which  he  repeated  seven  times 
with  great  applause.  His  Zanga  was  still  more  successful;  in- 
deed, he  has  never  been  excelled   in  that  character.     Six  times 


3G8  doran's  annals  of  the  staPxE. 

he  played  Horatio  to  Garrick's  Lothario,  and  charmed  the  town 
more  frequently  by  his  grand  Theseus  to  Mrs.  Pritchard's  Phae- 
dra. In  Macbeth,  Othello,  Wolsey,  and  Orestes,  he  also  displayed 
great  powers.  Ross,  a  gentlemanlike  actor,  made  his  debut  in 
Young  Bevil,  by  Garrick's  advice,  and  acted  Lord  Townley, 
Altamont,  and  Castalio, — the  latter  to  Garrick's  Chamont,  with 
great  effect.  Garrick,  no  doubt,  would  have  reluctantly  seen  liim- 
self  eclipsed  by  either  of  those  players ;  but  because  inferior  actors 
sought  to  flatter  him  by  calling  Mossop  a  ranter,  and  Ross  a  sniv- 
eller, and  epigrammatists  declared  indifference  to  both,  it  is  not 
conclusive  that  the  flattery  pleased  or  the  sneer  delighted  him. 
Garrick  had  his  own  peculiar  triumphs.  His  Kitely,  to  Wood- 
ward's Bobadil,  Yates's  Brain  worm,  Shuter's  Master  Stephen, 
Ross's  Young  Knowell,  and  Palmer's  Wellbred  gave  new  life  to 
Ben  Jonsou's  comedy  of  character.  Thenceforward,  was  associa- 
ted forever  the  name  of  Captain  Bobadil  with  that  of  the  scholar 
from  Merchant  Tailors' — Harry  Woodward. 

But  this  has  brought  us  into  a  new  half-century.     Let  us  pause 
and  look  back  at  the  audiences  of  that  which  has  gone  by. 


THE  AUDIENCES  OF  1700-1750.  369 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE    AUDIENCES    OF    lYOO-lVSO. 

Mb.  Isaac  Bickerstaffe  has  laid  it  down  as  a  rule  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  person  in  a  theatrical  audience  to  show  his  "  atten- 
tion, understanding,  and  virtue."  To  the  insuperable  difficulty  of 
the  task  may,  perhaps,  be  attributed  the  carelessness  of  audiences 
on  this  point.  How  is  a  man,  for  instance,  to  demonstrate  his 
virtue  in  the  public  assembly  ?  Steele  answers  the  query, — by 
showing  a  regard  for  it  when  exhibited  on  the  stage.  "  I  would 
undertake,"  he  says,  "to  find  out  all  the  persons  of  sense  and 
breeding  by  the  effect  of  a  single  sentence,  and  to  distinguish  a 
gentleman  as  much  by  his  laugh  as  his  bow.  When  we  see  the 
footman  and  his  lord  diverted  by  the  same  jest,  it  very  much 
turns  to  the  diminution  of  the  one,  or  the  honor  of  the 
other.  But,"  he  adds,  "though  a  man's  quality  may  appear 
in  .his  understanding  and  taste,  the  regard  to  virtue  ought  to  be 
the  same  in  all  ranks  and  conditions  of  men,  however  they  make  a 
profession  of  it  under  the  names  of  honor,  religion,  or  moral- 
ity." 

Steele  was  gratified  by  an  audience  who  sympathized  with  the 
distress  of  an  honest  but  unlucky  pair  of  lovers.  He  thinks  that 
the  Roman  audience  which  broke  into  an  ecstasy  of  applause  at 
the  abnegation  of  self  displayed  in  the  friendship  of  Pylades  and 
Orestes,  showed  qualities  which  justly  made  of  the  Roman  people 
the  leaders  of  mankind.  As  if  appreciation  of  the  semblance  ot 
good  were  the  same  thing  as  the  exercise  of  it  The  same  people 
applauded  as  lustily  when  they  saw  the  life-blood  spilled  of  the 
vanquished  gladiator. 

Again,  he  discovers  a  surpassing  excellence  in  an  Athenian  au- 
dience,— famed  of  old  for  applauding  the  virtues  which  the  Lace- 
demonians practised.  That  audience  was  roused  to  the  utmost 
fury  by  the  speech  of  a  man  who  professed  to  value  wealth   far 


370  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

above  good  nairie,  family,  or  natural  affection.  The  uproar  was 
so  great  that  the  author  was  compelled  to  come  forward  and  ask 
the  forbearance  of  the  house  till  the  last  act  of  the  piece,  in  which 
he  promised  that  this  wretched  fellow  would  be  brought  to  con- 
dign punishment,  Mr.  Bickerstaffe  very  much  questions  whether 
modern  audiences  would  be  moved  to  such  a  laudable  horror.  It 
would  be  very  undesirable  that  they  should;  or  that  a  person 
should  swing  out  of  the  house  in  disgust,  as  Socrates  did  when  he 
attended  the  first  representation  of  a  tragedy  by  his  friend  Euripides, 
— and  was  excited  to  anger  by  a  remark  of  Hippolitus,  to  the  effect 
that  he  had  "taken  an  oath  with  his  tongue  but  not  with  his 
heart."  The  maxim  was  indefensible,  but  the  action  of  the  play 
required  it ;  and  Socrates  had  been  truer  to  his  friend  had  he  re- 
mained till  the  denouement,  and  not  have  hurried  away  while  that 
friend's  play  was  being  applauded. 

On  the  duties  of  audiences,  Mr.  Bickerstaffe  is  a  little  loose, 
but  we  may  readily  acquiesce  in  one  of  his  sentiments.  "  When 
we  see  any  thing  divert  an  audience,  either  in  tragedy  or  comedy, 
that  strikes  at  the  duties  of  civil  life,  or  exposes  what  the  best 
men  in  all  ages  have  looked  upon  as  sacred  and  inviolable,  it  is 
the  certain  sign  of  a  profligate  race  of  men,  who  are  fallen  from 
the  virtue  of  their  forefathers,  and  will  be  contemptible  in  the  eyes 
of  their  posterity."  This  was  said  when  audiences  thought  only 
of  the  quality  of  the  actor,  and  troubled  not  itself  with  that  of  the 
maxims  uttered,  unless  these  had  some  political  tendency,  or  allu 
sion  to  well-known  popular  circumstance.  The  Tatler  lived  be- 
fore the  time  when  the  stories  of  Regulus  and  Virginia  were 
turned  into  burlesque,  and  children  received  their  first  impres- 
sions of  Alfred  and  of  Tell  through  the  caricature  of  extrava- 
ganza. 

But  there  was  much  that  was  illegitimate  in  those  legitimate 
days.  If  a  play  was  not  likely  to  attract,  an  audience  was  adver- 
tised, in  order  to  draw  one.  The  promised  presence  of  royalty, 
naturally  enough,  helped  to  fill  the  house;  but  so  would  that  of  a 
leash  of  savages,  or  a  quack  doctoress.  Of  the  latter  class,  there 
was  the  clever  and  hnpudent  Mrs.  Mapp,  the  bone-setter,  who 
came  into  town  daily  from  Epsom,  in  her  own  carriage,  and  set 
bones,  or  explained  her  principle  in  doing  so,  at  the  Grecian  Coffee- 


THE   AUDIENCES   OF    1700-1750.  371 

House.  The  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  managers  invited  her  to  honor 
their  house  and  the  performance  with  her  presence,  and  the  astute 
old  lady  was  well  aware  that  her  presence  thus  granted  would  be  a 
profitable  advertisement  of  herself.  That  presence  I  find  announced 
at  the  above  theatre  on  the  16th  October,  1736,  with  that  of 
Taylor,  the  oculist,  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  The  play  was  the 
"  Husband's  Relief,"  but  the  full  house  was  owing  to  Mrs.  Mapp 
being  there.  In  honor  of  this  "  bone-setter,"  near  whom  also  sat 
Ward,  the  worm-doctor,  a  song  was  sung  on  the  stage, — as  the 
national  anthem  when  a  sovereign  sanctions  the  doings  of  the 
evening.     Of  this  chant,  I  give  the  first  and  last  verses  ; — 


'  Te  surgeons  of  London,  who  puzzle  your  pates, 
To  ride  in  your  coaches  and  purchase  estates, 
Give  over,  for  shame,  for  your  pride  has  a  fall, 
And  the  doctress  of  Epsom  has  outdone  you  alL 

Derry  down. 


'  Dame  Nature  has  giv'n  her  a  doctor's  degree. 
She  gets  all  the  patients  and  pockets  the  fee; 
So  if  you  don't  instantly  prove  her  a  cheat, 
She'll  loll  in  her  chariot,  while  you  walk  the  street. 

Derry  down  I 


Let  us  now  glance  at  the  example  set  to  audiences  by  greater 
folk  than  Mrs.  Mapp. 

George  I.  understood  English  better  than  he  could  speak  it,  and 
he  could  make  ready  application  of  passages  to  contemporary 
events  connected  with  himself  or  others.  Shakspeare's  "  Henry 
VIII."  was  frequently  played  before  him,  both  at  Hampton  Court 
and  at  Drury  Lane ;  and  there  was  a  speech  in  that  play  which 
never  escaped  his  marked  notice.  It  is  that  addressed  by  Wolsey 
to  his  secretary,  Cromwell,  after  the  King  has  ordered  the  Cardi- 
nal to  write  letters  of  indemnity,  into  every  county,  where  the 
payment  of  certain  heavy  taxes  had  been  disputed.  "A  word 
with  you,"  says  the  Cardinal : — 


372  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

"  Let  there  be  letters  writ  to  every  shire, 
Of  the  King's  grace  and  pardoa.     The  grieved  commons 
Hardly  conceive  of  me.     Let  it  be  noised, 
That  through  our  intercession,  this  rovolcement 
And  pardon  comes. — I  shall,  anon,  advise  you 
Further  in  the  proceeding." 

Gibber,  who  narrates  the  incident,  states  that  "  the  soUcitude  of 
this  spiritual  minister  in  filching  from  his  master  the  grace  and 
niorit  of  a  good  action,  and  dressing  up  himself  in  it,  while  him- 
self had  been  author  of  the  evil  complained  of,  was  so  easy  a  stroke 
of  his  temporal  conscience  that  it  seemed  to  raise  the  King  into 
something  more  than  a  smile  whenever  that  play  came  before  him. 
And  I  had  a  more  distinct  occasion  to  observe  this  effect,  because 
my  proper  stand  on  the  stage,  when  I  spoke  the  lines,  required 
me  to  be  near  the  box  where  the  King  usually  sat.  In  a  word, 
this  play  is  so  true  a  dramatic  chronicle  of  an  old  English  court, 
and  where  the  character  of  Harry  VIII.  is  so  e.Kcellently  drawn, 
even  to  a  humorous  likeness,  that  it  may  be  no  wonder  why  His 
]\Iajesty's  particular  taste  for  it  should  have  commanded  it  three 
several  times  in  one  winter." 

So  far  Gibber  ;  we  hear  from  another  source  that  on  one  occa- 
sion when  the  above  lines  were  spoken,  the  King  said  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  had  not  yet  been  expelled  from  Court. 
"  You  see,  George,  what  you  have  one  day  to  expect." 

When  George  L,  wishing  to  patronize  the  English  actors,  in 
1718,  ordered  the  great  hall  at  Hampton  Gourt  to  be  converted 
into  a  theatre,  he  desired  that  it  might  be  ready  by  June,  in  order 
that  the  actors  in  their  summer  vacation  might  play  before  him 
tJiree  times  a  week.  The  official  obstacles  prevented  the  hall  being 
ready  before  September,  when  the  actors  had  commenced  their 
London  season,  and  were,  therefore,  enabled  to  play  before  the 
King:  only  seven  times.  The  performances  were  under  the  direc- 
tion of  Steele,  whose  political  services  had  been  poorly  recom- 
pensed by  granting  him  certain  theatrical  privileges.  The  troop 
commenced  on  the  23d  of  the  month  with  "Hamlet;"  they  sub- 
sequently played  "Sir  Courtly  Nice,"  the  "Constant  Couple," 
"  Love  for  Money,"  "  Volpone,"  and  "  Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a 
Wife."     The  King  coul  1  not  have  been   an   indifferent   scholar  if 


THE  AUDIENCES  OF  17C0-1T50.  373 

be  could  readily  apply  passages,  and  quickly  comprehend  others, 
in  plays  like  these;  or  could  follow  Gibber  in  Sir  Courtly,  laugh 
at  the  jokes  of  Piakethraaa  in  Crack,  feel  the  heartiness  of  Miller 
iu  Hothead,  be  interested  in  the  testimony  of  Johnson,  sympa- 
thetic with  the  Surly  of  Thurmond,  enjoy  the  periods  of  Booth  in 
Farewell,  or  the  aristocratic  spirit  of  Mills  in  Lord  Bellguard.  The 
ladies,  too,  in  some  of  the  plays  acted  before  him, — Leonora,  by 
Mrs,  Porter,  and  Violante,  by  Mi's.  Younger, — had  also  some 
phrases  to  utter,  which  might  well  puzzle  one  not  to  the  matter 
born.  But  George  L  must  have  comprehended  all,  for  he  so  thor- 
oughly enjoyed  all,  that  Steele  told  Lord  Sunderland,  the  grand- 
sou  of  Sacharissa,  and  the  son-iu-laW  of  Marlborough,  that  the 
King  liked  the  entertainment  "  so  terribly  well,  my  lord,  that  I  was 
afraid  I  should  have  lost  all  my  actors;  for  I  was  not  sure  the 
King  would  not  keep  them  to  till  the  place  at  Court,  which  he  saw 
them  so  tit  for  in  the  play." 

In  the  old  days,  a  play  acted  before  the  sovereign  at  Whitehall, 
cost  that  sovereign  but  the  poor  fee  of  £20,  the  actors  playing  at 
their  own  house,  in  the  afternoon,  previous  to  having  the  honor 
of  acting  before  the  Court  at  night.  To  the  performers  at  Hamp- 
ton Court  their  ordinary  day's  wage  was  given,  with  their  travel- 
ling expenses,  for  which  they  held  themselves  ready  to  act  there 
at  a  day's  warning.  The  Lord  Chamberlain  found  the  wax-lights, 
and  furnished  the  "  household  music,"  while  the  players'  ward- 
robe and  "  traps"  generally  were  conveyed  from  old  Drury  down 
to  Hampton  in  a  ^'■Chaise  Marine'''  at  his  Majesty's  expense.  The 
cost  of  the  seven  plays  amounted  to  £350 ;  but  King  George 
generously  threw  in  a  couple  of  hundred  more,  as  a  guerdon  to 
the  managers,  who  had  professed  that  the  honor  of  toiling  to  afford 
his  Majesty  pleasure  was  sufficient  recompense  in  itself!  The 
King  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it ;  and  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
then  Lord  Chamberlain  (and  subsequently  the  original  of  Foote's 
Matthew  Mug,  in  the  "Mayor  of  Garratt"),  pai^  the  money  into 
the  hands  of  the  delighted  Cibber,  who  was  astounded  at  the 
Chamberlain's  modesty,  which  kept  him  from  arrogating  to  him- 
self, like  Cardinal  Wolsey,  the  merit  which  belonged  to  his  royal 
master. 

How  things  went  between  audience  and  actors  in  the  Hampton 


374  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Court  theatre  is  admirably  told  by  Gibber  Limself: — "A  plaj 
presented  at  Court,  or  acted  on  a  public  stage,"  he  says,  "  seeni  to 
their  different  authors  a  different  entertainment.  In  the  common 
tlieatre  the  guests  are  at  home,  where  the  politer  forms  of  good 
breeding  are  not  so  nicely  regarded.  Every  one  there  falls  to, 
and  likes  or  finds  fault,  according  to  his  natural  taste  or  appetite. 
At  Court,  where  the  Prince  gives  the  treat  and  honors  the  table 
with  his  own  presence,  the  audience  is  under  the  restraint  of  a 
circle  where  laughter  or  applause  raised  higher  than  a  whisper 
would  be  stared  at.  At  a  public  play  they  are  both  let  loose,  even 
till  the  actor  is  sometimes  pleased  with  his  not  being  able  to  be 
heard  for  the  clamor  of  them.  But  this  coldness,  or  decency  of 
attention  at  Court,  I  observed,  had  but  a  melancholy  effect  upon 
the  impatient  vanity  of  some  of  our  actors,  who  seemed  inconso- 
lable when  their  flashy  endeavors  to  please  had  passed  unheeded. 
Their  not  considering  where  they  were,  quite  disconcerted  them, 
nor  could  they  recover  their  spirits  till,  from  the  lowest  rank  of 
the  audience,  some  gaping  Joan  or  John^  in  the  fulness  of  their 
hearts,  roared  out  their  approbation." 

These  little  ebullitions  appear  to  have  amused  the  grave  King, 
for  Cibber  hints  that  they  raised  a  smile  on  the  royal  countenance, 
and  he  suggests  that  such  a  fact  was  entirely  natural  and  reason- 
able. He  adds,  "  that  an  audience  may  be  as  well  too  much  re- 
served as  too  profuse  of  their  applause.  For  though  it  is  possible 
a  Betterton  would  not  have  been  discouraged  from  throwing  out 
an  excellence,  or  elated  into  an  error,  by  his  auditors  being  too 
little  or  too  much  pleased ;  yet  as  actors  of  his  judgment  are 
rarities,  those  of  less  judgment  may  sink  into  a  flatness  in  their 
performance  for  want  of  that  applause  which,  from  the  generality 
of  judges,  they  might,  perhaps,  have  some  pretence  to;  and  the 
auditor,  when  not  seeming  to  feel  what  ouglit  to  affect  him,  may 
rob  himself  of  something  more  that  he  might  have  had,  by  giving 
the  actor  his  due,  who  measures  out  his  power  to  please,  a«cord- 
ing  to  the  value  he  sets  upon  the  hearer's  taste  or  capacity ;  but, 
however,  as  we  were  not  here  itinerant  adventures,  and  had  properly 
but  one  royal  auditor  to  please,  after  that  honor  was  attained  to, 
the  rest  of  our  ambition  had  little  to  look  after." 

And  now  what  of  this  Geortre's  succe.ssor  as  an  "auditor?" 


THE   AUDIENCES   OF   1700-1750.  375 

Among  the  unmerited  censures  whicli  have  been  flung  at 
Charles  II.,  the  most  conspicuous  and  the  least  reasonable  is  that  the 
grossness  of  the  dramas  produced  in  his  days  was  owing  to  his 
bad  taste  exhibited  in  his  fondness  for  French  comedy.  Had  the 
poets  of  that  period  imitated  that  comedy,  they  would  not  have 
offended  as  they  did,  for,  taken  altogether,  French  comedy  was 
remarkable  for  its  freedom  from  utter,  abounding,  and  continual 
coarseness.  I  think  that  George  II.  was  more  blameworthy  than 
his  predecessor  Charles,  for  he  encouraged  the  representation  of 
immoral  dramas,  and  commanded  the  restoration  of  scenes  which 
actors  had  begun  to  deem  too  indecent  for  acting  or  expression. 
For  didactic  plays  the  monarch  had  no  stomanh ;  but  he  savored 
Ravenscroft's  beastly  comedies — the  veiy  worst  of  them  did  he  the 
most  delight  in,  and  helped  to  keep  them  on  the  stage  when 
actors  and  audiences  were  alike  disgusted  with  them.  This  per- 
verted taste  was  strong  upon  him  from  the  first.  When  Prince 
of  Wales,  he  witnessed  the  acting  of  "  Venice  Preserved,"  but  dis- 
covering, subsequently,  on  reading  the  old  edition  of  the  play, 
there  were  scenes  in  it  which  are  flattered  by  merely  being 
designated  as  "  filthy,"  he  sent  for  the  "  master"  of  one  of  the  houses, 
and  commanded  that  the  omitted  scenes  should  be  restored. 
They  are  those  which  chiefly  lie  between  Aquilia  and  Antonio, 
characters  which  never  take  part  in  modern  representations  of 
Otway's  tragedy.  The  former  part  was  given  to  Mrs.  Horton, 
who,  though  she  was  something  of  the  quality  of  the  creature  she 
represented, was  not  only  young  and  beautiful,  but  was  draped  iu 
a  certain  mantle  of  modesty  which  heightened  the  charms  of  her 
youth  and  her  beauty  ;  and  she  must  have  had  a  painful  task,  less 
than  the  younger  Pinkethman  had  who  played  Antonio,  in  thus 
gratifying  the  low  predilections  of  the  graceless  Prince,  who  then 
gave  ton  to  audiences. 

George  II.,  when  Prince  of  Wales,  found  Bartholomew  Fair  aa 
much  to  his  taste  as  the  theatres.  In  1725,  he,  and  a  gay 
posse  of  companions,  went  down  the  Thames,  in  barges,  to  Black- 
friars,  and  thence  to  the  fair.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  fun  for  the 
night,  they  entered  the  old  King's  Arms  Inn,  joyously  supped 
there,  and  got  back  to  St.  James's  by  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
Some  years  later.  Prince  Frederick,  George  II.'s  son,  who  valued 


3T6  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  stage  in  much  the  same  measure  as  his  father  did,  also  visited 
the  fair  by  night.  He  went  amid  a  little  army  of  the  yeomen  of 
the  guard,  and  under  a  blaze  of  torches,  and  cries  of  "  make  way 
there  for  the  prince,"  from  a  mob  who  were  delighted  to  see 
among  them  the  heir  apparent,  in  a  bright  ruby  colored  frock  coat, 
thickly  laced  with  gold.  There  was  a  gallant  comjmny,  too,  of 
gentlemen,  all  coated  and  laced,  and  besworded  like  the  prince ; 
but  the  finest,  and  fussiest,  and  happiest  personage  there,  was  the 
important  little  man  who  marshalled  the  Prince  the  way  that  he 
should  go,  and  ushered  him  to  and  from  the  booths,  where  short 
solemn  tragedies  were  played,  with  a  disjointed  farce  between  the 
acts.  This  important  individual  was  Mr.  Manager  Rich,  and  he 
was  as  happy  at  this  night's  doings,  as  if  he  had  gained  something 
more  substantial  by  them  than  empty  honor. 

On  the  3d  of  May,  1736,  the  audience  at  Drury  Lane,  with  the 
Prince  of  Wales  and  his  bride  among  them,  witnessed  some  \m- 
expected  addition  to  the  entertainment  promised  them.  The 
footmen  chose  that  night  for  an  attempt  to  recover  their  old  and 
abused  privilege  of  occupying  the  upper  gnWery,  r/)'atis.  One  body 
of  them  entered  the  gallery  by  force,  a  second  fought  their 
way  through  the  stage-door  to  dictate  terms  to  the  manager,  and 
an  active  corps  in  plush  kept  the  house  in  alarm  by  their  shouts 
for  a  redress  of  grievances.  Amid  the  fighting  that  ensued,  the 
terrified  part  of  the  audience  dispersed.  Colonel  De  Veal,  with 
the  "  authorities,"  came  to  read  the  Riot  Act,  but  no  respect  was 
paid  either  to  dignitary  or  document,  whereupon  a  battle-royal 
followed,  in  which  plush  was  ingloriously  defeated,  with  a  loss  of 
eighteen  finely-liveried  and  thickly-calved  combatants,  who, 
battered,  bruised,  and  bleeding,  were  clapped  into  Newgate  for 
safe  keeping. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  life  of  George  II.,  he  took  advantage 
of  his  position  to  make  loud  remarks  on  the  performances  at  which 
he  was  present.  One  night,  at  Drury  Lane,  he  commanded 
Farquhar's  "  Beaux  Stratagem,"  and  Fielding's  "  Intriguing  Cham- 
bermaid." He  was  amused  with  the  Foigard  of  Yates,  and  the 
Cherry  of  Miss  Minors.  In  the  second  piece,  Kitty  Clive  played 
her  original  part  of  Lettice — a  part  in  which  she  had  delighted 
the  town,  which  could  then  be  delighted  by  such  parts,  for  sevctt- 


THE   AUDIEXCES   OF    1700-1750.  377 

tccn  years.  Walpole,  writing  of  this  incident  to  Matin,  says : — 
"  A  certain  king  that,  whatever  airs  you  may  give  yourself,  you 
are  not  at  all  like,  was  last  week  at  the  play.  The  intriguing 
chambermaid  in  the  fai'ce  says  to  the  old  gentleman : — '  You  are 
villanously  old,  you  are  sixty-six,  you  cannot  have  the  impudence 
to  think  of  living  above  two  years.'  Tlie  old  gentleman  in  the 
stage-box  turned  about  in  a  passion,  and  said,  '  This  is  d — d  stuff!' 
and  the  royal  critic  wa^  energetically  right." 

On  some  occasions  there  were  more  kings  in  the  house  tlian  he  of 
England.  Four  were  once  there  among  the  audience,  and,  as  far 
as  their  majesties  were  concerned,  rather  against  their  will.  These 
poor  majesties  were  American  Indian  chiefs,  to  whom  the  bigher 
sounding  title  of  "  kings"  was  given  by  way  of  courtesy.  The 
Irish  actor,  Bowen,  had  contrived  to  secure  their  presence  at  his 
benefit,  Avhen  "  Macbeth"  was  performed,  and  a  dense  mob  was 
gathered,  not  so  much  to  hear  Shakspeare  as  to  see  the  "  kings." 
The  illustrious  strangers  were  placed  in  the  centre  box,  and  as  they 
were  invisible  to  the  occupants  of  the  galleries,  an  uproar  ensued. 
Wilks  blandl)^  assured  the  rioters  that  tlie  kings  were  really 
present  a-s  announced.  The  galleries  did  not  care  ;  they  had  paid 
their  money,  they  said,  to  see  them,  and  the  kings  they  would 
have,  or  there  should  be  no  play.  After  some  negotiating,  and 
great  tumult,  the  managers  placed  four  chairs  upon  the  stage,  to 
which  the  four  Indian  kings  gravely  descended  from  their  box, 
amid  a  chorus  of  "  hurrahs  !"  from  the  late  dissentients,  with  whose 
noisy  enthusiasm  the  imperturbable  gravity  of  the  chiefs  con- 
trasted strangely.  They  listened  seriously  to  the  play,  and  with 
as  much  intelligence  to  the  epilogue,  which  was  specially  addressed 
to  them,  and  in  which  they  were  told  that  as  Sheba's  queen  once 
went  to  adore  Solomon,  so  they  had  been  "  winged  by  ber 
example,"  to  seek  protection  on  Britannia's  shore.  It  then  pro 
ceeded,  with  some  abuse  of  grammar,  thus  : — 

"  0  princes,  who  have  with  amazement  seen 
So  good,  so  gracious,  and  so  great  a  queen  ; 
Who  from  her  royal  mouth  have  heard  your  doom 
Secur'd  against  the  threats  of  Franco  and  Rome  ; 
Awhile  some  moments  on  our  scenes  bestow ; " 

which  was  a  singular  request  to  make  when  the  play  was  over! 


378  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

One  of  the  greatest  honors  ever  rendered  to  a  dramatist  by 
royalty,  was  conferred  by  Queen  Caroline,  wife  of  George  II.,  on 
Mottley.  The  poet  was  but  a  poet  by  courtesy ;  his  two  stilted 
tragedies  were  soon  forgotten,  and  a  better  fate  has  not  attended 
his  other  productions.  What  merit  gained  for  him  the  favor  of 
so  great  a  queen,  was  never  known.  Mottley's  father  was  an 
active  Jacobite ;  but  the  son  was  a  seeker  of  places,  for  which  he 
obtained  more  promises  than  were  realized.  Yet  for  this  obscure 
person,  whose  benefit  night  was  announced  as  to  take  place  soon 
after  the  Queen's  Drawing  Room  had  been  held,  that  Queen  hei*- 
self,  in  that  very  drawing  room  (the  occasion  being  the  Prince  of 
Wales's  birthday),  sold  Mottley's  tickets,  delivering  them  with  her 
own  royal  hand  to  the  purchasers,  and  condescending  to  receive 
gold  for  them  in  return.  The  money  was  handed  over  to  that 
gravest  of  the  Hanoverian  officials,  Colonel  Schurtz,  privy-purse  to 
the  prince,  who  presented  the  same  to  the  highly-honored,  and, 
perhaps,  much  astonished  poet,  -with  a  handsome  guerdon  added 
to  it  by  the  prince  himself. 

It  is  due  to  the  audiences  at  Oxford,  where  the  actors  played 
in  their  brief  season  twice  a  day,  that  it  should  be  said,  that  the 
taste  of  the  University  was  superior  to  that  of  the  metropolis. 
Wliatever  modern  dramatists  might  assert  with  respect  to  Shaks- 
peare,  and  however  the  "  more  politely  written  comedies"  might 
be  acceptable  to  a  licentious  London  pit,  Oxford  asserted  the  su- 
periority of  Shakspeare  and  Ben  Jonson,  "  for  whose  masterly 
scenes,"  says  Cibber,  "  they  seemed  to  have  as  implicit  a  reverence 
as,  formerly,  for  the  ethics  of  Aristotle."  The  flash,  and  tinsel, 
and  even  the  sterling  metal  mixed  up  with  the  dross  of  the  modern 
illustrative  comedy,  had  no  attractions  for  an  Oxford  audience. 
Of  modern  tragedy  they  only  welcomed  "  Cato ;"  but  that  waa 
written  by  an  Oxford  man,  and  after  the  classic  model,  and  to 
see  this,  the  play-goers  clustered  round  the  doors  at  noon,  and 
the  death  of  Cato  triumphed  over  the  injuries  of  Ca3sar  every- 
where. 

On  the  taste  of  English  audiences  generally,  Dryden  remarks, 
in  his  Essay  on  Dramatic  Poesy,  that,  "  as  we  who  are  a  more 
sullen  people  come  to  be  diverted  at  our  plays,  so  the  French,  who 
are  of  an  airy  and  gay  temper,  come  hither  to  make  themselves 


THE  AUDIENCES  OF  1700-1750.  379 

more  serious.  And  this  I  conceive  to  be  why  comedies  are  more 
pleasing  to  us  and  tragedies  to  them."  This  appears  to  me  as 
false  as  his  assertion  that  rhymed  plays  were  in  their  nature  and 
fashion  peculiarly  English  !  A  few  years  later  the  "  polite  taste" 
of  audiences  was  censured  freely  by  Edmund  Curll,  who  was  very 
irate  that  "  nothing  would  go  down  but  ballad-opera  and  Mr. 
Lun's  buffoonery ;"  but  this  taste  was  attributed  by  him  to  an 
imperfect  education.  "  As  for  breeding,"  that  delicate  gentleman 
remarks,  "  our  brewers  are  now  arrived  at  such  a  height  oi  finesse 
and  elegance,  that  their  children  are  sent  into  France  for  education. 
But  for  this,  as  a  lord  mayor  himself  said,  there  ought  to  be  some 
grains  of  allowance." 

Gibber  relates  an  incident  illustrative  of  the  ferocity  of  enamored 
and  rejected  beaux  among  the  audience.  One  of  these,  in  the 
year  1717,  had  incurred  the  strongly-expressed  contempt  of  a 
young  actress,  whom  Colley  does  not  further  designate,  for  some 
insulting  language  addressed  to  her  as  she  was  seated  in  a  box. 
This  fellow  took  his  revenge  by  outraging  the  lady,  on  the  stage, 
and,  when  she  appeared,  he  interrupted  her  performance  "  with 
such  loud  and  various  notes  of  mockery,  as  other  young  Men  of 
honor  in  the  same  place  have  sometimes  made  themselves  un- 
dauntedly merry  with."  This  disappointed  beau,  however,  went  fur- 
ther, and  threw  at  the  lady  "  such  trash  as  no  person  can  be  sup- 
posed to  carry  about  him,  unless  to  use  on  so  particular  an  occa- 
sion." A  champion  of  the  insulted  actress  called  her  assailant  "  a 
fool,  or  a  bully,"  whereupon  the  latter  challenged  him  to  Hyde 
Park,  and  proved  himself  craven  to  boot,  by  asking  for  his  life. 
"  Whether  he  minded  it  or  not,"  says  Gibber,  "I  have  not  yet 
heard,  but  his  antagonist,  a  few  years  after,  died  in  one  of  the 
principal  posts  of  the  Government." 

The  critics  were  not  more  tender  to  a  new  play,  particularly 
when  provoked  by  sarcasms  against  their  judgment  in  the  pro- 
logue, than  the  above  offender  was  to  a  well-conducted  actress. 
"  They  come  to  a  new  play,"  Gibber  tells  us,  "  like  hounds  to  a 
carcass,  and  are  all  in  a  full  cry,  sometimes  for  an  hour  together, 
before  the  curtain  rises  to  throw  it  amongst  them.  Sure,  those 
gentlemen  cannot  but  allow  that  a  play,  condemned  after  a  fair 
hearing,  falls  with  thrice  the  ignominy,  as  when  it  is  refused  tliat 


c<0  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

common  justice."  This  was  a  new  race  of  critics,  unknown  to 
earlier  times,  and  their  savagcness  had  the  effect  of  deterring  gen- 
tlemen fr^m  writing  plays.  "  They  seem  to  me,"  says  Colley, 
"  like  tlie  lion  whelps  in  the  Tower,  who  are  so  boisterously  game- 
some at  their  meals,  that  they  dash  down  the  bowls  of  milk  brought 
for  their  own  breakfasts." 

We  meet  with  one  instance  of  forbearance  being  asked  from  the 
critics,  not  on  the  ground  that  the  piece  had  merit,  but  that,  as  a 
prince  of  the  blood  was  in  the  house,  he  should  be  allowed  to  lis- 
ten to  the  nonsense  undisturbed.  The  piece  was  Gibber's  pastoral 
opera,  "  Love's  Riddle,"  produced  at  Drury  Lane,  in  January, 
17::!9.  The  public  were  oftended  at  the  recent  prohibition  of  the 
second  part  of  the  "  Beggars'  Opera,"  Gibber  was  looked  upon  as 
having  procured  the  prohibition  for  the  sake  of  his  own  piece,  and 
a  cabal  of  pit  rioters  hooted  the  play,  and  were  only  momentarily 
silent  wliilc  Miss  Rafter  was  singing,  whose  voice  had  well  nigh 
saved  this  operatic  drama.  On  the  second  night,  which  was  even 
more  riotous  than  the  first,  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  was  pres- 
ent, and  it  was  in  order  tliat  he  might  be  decently  bored,  and  not 
deprived  of  what  he  had  never  seen,  the  fun  of  a  playhouse  riot, 
that  Gibber  addressed  the  pit,  and  undertook  that  the  piece 
sliould  be  withdrawn  after  that  night,  if  they  would  only  remem- 
ber in  whose  presence  they  were,  and  allow  the  drama  to  be 
quietly  played  out.  With  thi.s  understanding,  the  rioters  with- 
drew, the  piece  went  dully  on,  and,  at  the  close  of  it,  a  lord  in 
waiting  was  sent  behind  the  scenes  to  compliment  Gibber,  and  to 
express  the  Prince's  approval  of  his  conduct  on  that  night. 

The  pit  was  always  the  great  court  of  appeal,  and  on  one  occa- 
sion Gibber  showed  much  courage  and  good  sense,  and  a  due 
appreciation  of  his  calling  as  an  actor.  At  the  theatre  in  Dorset 
Gardens,  where  the  Drur}'^  Lane  company  occasionally  played,  and 
on  an  evening  when  he  was  announced  for  one  of  his  best  parts,  a 
set  of  rope-dancers  were  advertised  as  about  to  make  their  first 
appearance.  Gibber's  scorn  was  roused  by  this  companionship, 
and  what  he  did  may  be  best  told  in  his  own  words.  "  I  was 
hardy  enough,"  he  says,  "  t(^  c/o  into  the  pit,  and  acquainted  the 
.'ipectators  near  me  that  I  hoped  they  would  not  think  it  a  mark 
of  my  disrespect  to  them  if  I  declined  acting  upon  any  stage  that 


THE   AUDIENCES   OF    1700-1750.  381 

was  brouo-lit  to  so  low  a  disgrace  as  ours  was  like  to  be  by  that 
day's  entertainment."  In  this  he  had  the  support  of  his  fellow- 
actors,  and  the  public  approved ;  and  the  acrobats  were  dismissed 
by  the  reluctant  manager. 

The  pit  was  at  this  period  supreme  and  severe,  and  as  the  wit- 
lings used  to  make  remarks  on,  or  exchange  them  with,  the  moro 
audacious  beauties  in  the  boxes,  so  now  did  they  exercise  a  cniel 
humor  in  making  sarcastic  application  of  the  words  of  a  part  to 
the  actress  who  delivered  them.  By  these  they  pointed  out  the 
flaws  in  her  character,  her  deficiency  in  beauty,  or  her  effrontery 
in  assuming  virtues  which  did  not  belong  to  her. 

I  do  not  find  that  an}^  especial  evening  was  considered  particu- 
larly "  fashionable"  till  towards  the  close  of  Gibber's  managerial 
career  at  Drury  Lane,  which,  by  good  administration,  had  become 
so  much  in  fashion,  he  says,  "  with  the  politer  part  of  the  town, 
that  our  house,  every  Saturday,  seemed  to  be  the  appointed  as- 
sembly of  the  first  ladies  of  quality.  Of  this,  too,"  he  adds,  "the 
common  spectators  were  so  well  appiised,  that,  for  twenty  years 
successively  on  that  day,  we  scarcely  ever  failed  of  a  crowded  au- 
dience, for  which  occasion  we  particularly  reserved  our  best  plays, 
acted  in  the  best  manner  we  could  give  them." 

From  the  Restoration  till  late  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  those 
*'  politer"  folks,  as  Gibber — or  the  "  quality,"  as  Ghesterfield 
would  have  called  them,  had  been  accustomed  to  arrogate  to 
themselves  the  privilege  not  merely  of  going  behind  the  scenes, 
but  crowding  at  the  wings,  and,  at  last,  invading  the  stage  itself, 
while  the  play  was  being  acted.  Through  this  mob  the  players 
had  to  elbow  their  way ;  and  where  all  illusion  was  destroyed,  dif- 
ficult must  have  been  the  task,  but  marvellous  the  triumph,  of 
those  actors  who  could  make  grief  appear  sincere,  and  humor 
seem  spontaneous  and  genuine.  This  mob  was  not  a  civil  and 
attentive  crowd,  but  a  collection  of  impertinent  persons,  who 
buzzed  and  moved  about,  and  changed  salutations  with  the  audi- 
ence, or  addressed  the  players — the  chief  of  whom  they  must  often 
have  supremely  exasperated.  The  "  decency  of  a  clear  stage"  was 
one  of  Gibber's  great  objects,  and  when  his  importunity  and  the 
decree  of  Queen  Anne  drove  the  erratic  part  of  the  audience  back 
to  their  proper  position  in  the  house,  a  change  for  the  better  was 


382  DORAJsr's  annals  of  the  stage. 

effected,  by  whicli  all  parties  were  gainers.  This  decree  was  issued 
iu  January,  1704,  and  ;t  prohibited  "  the  appearance  of  any  of  the 
public  on  the  stage  whatever  might  be  their  quality,  the  wearing 
of  masks  in  any  part  of  the  house,  entering  the  house  without  pre- 
vious due  payment,  and  the  acting  of  any  thing  on  the  stage  con- 
trary to  religion  and  good  manners."  Previously  to  the  appear- 
ance of  this  decree,  persons  were  employed  to  take  down  profane 
words  uttered  by  the  performers,  who  were  thereupon  prosecuted, 
and,  on  conviction,  fined.  The  authors  who  penned  the  phrases, 
for  omitting  which  the  actor  would  have  been  mulcted,  were  neither 
molested  nor  censured. 

Gibber  contrasts  French  and  English  audiences  to  the  disadvan- 
tage of  the  latter ;  but  I  think  he  is  wrong  in  his  conclusions.  "At 
the  tragedy  of  '  Zaire,'  "  he  says,  "  while  the  celebrated  Mdlle.  Gos- 
sin  was  delivering  a  soliloquy,  a  gentleman  was  seized  Avith  a  sud- 
den fit  of  coughing,  which  gave  the  actress  some  surprise  and  in- 
terruption, and,  his  fit  increasing,  she  was  forced  to  stand  silent  so 
long  that  it  drew  the  eyes  of  the  uneasy  audience  upon  him  ;  when 
a  French  gentleman,  leaning  forward  to  him,  asked  him  if  this  ac- 
tress had  given  him  any  particular  offence,  that  he  took  so  public 
an  occasion  to  resent  it  ?  The  English  gentleman,  in  the  utmost 
surprise,  assured  him,  so  far  from  it,  that  he  was  a  particular 
admirer  of  her  performance ;  that  his  malady  was  his  real  misfor 
tune,  and  that  if  he  apprehended  any  return  of  it,  he  would  rather 
quit  his  seat  than  disoblige  either  the  actor  or  the  audience." 
Colley  adds,  that  he  had  seen  this  "  publick  decency"  of  the 
French  theatre  carried  so  far  "  that  a  gentleman  in  their  Second 
Loge,  or  Middle  Gallery,  being  observed  to  sit  forward  himself, 
while  a  lady  sat  behind  him,  a  loud  number  of  voices  called  out  to 
him  from  the  pit — Place  d  la  Dame  !  Place  d  la  Dame  !  when  the 
person  so  offending,  either  not  apprehending  the  meaning  of  the 
clamor,  or  possibly  being  some  John  Trot,  who  feared  no  man 
alive,  the  noise  was  continued  for  several  minutes ;  nor  were  the 
actors,  though  ready  on  the  stage,  suffered  to  begin  the  play,  till 
this  unbred  person  was  laughed  out  of  his  seat,  and  had  placed  the 
lady  before  him." 

This,  however,  was  but  the  mere  arrogance  of  the  pit,  towards 
which,  had  the  lady  stood  for  a  moment,  with  her  back  turned, 


THE  AUDIEKCES  OF  lYOO-1750.  383 

the  polite  gentlemen  there  would  have  roared  lustily,  as  under  sim- 
ilar circumstances  they  do  at  the  present  time,  '■'■Face  au  parterre  /" 
And  as  for  the  tenderness  of  the  old  French  audiences  for  their 
actors,  I  have  already  given  some  taste  of  its  quality,  and  have 
only  to  add  here,  that  the  French  magistrates  were  once  compelled 
to  issue  a  decree  wherein  "Every  person  is  prohibited  from  doing 
any  violence  in  the  Theatre  de  Bourgogne,  in  Paris,  during  the 
time  any  piece  is  performing,  as  likewise  from  throwing  stones,  dust, 
or  any  thing  which  may  put  the  audience  into  an  uproar,  or 
create  any  tumult." 

The  decree  of  iVO-i  for  keeping  the  stage  clear  does  not  appear 
to  have  been  universally  observed,  for,  on  the  opening  of  the  first 
theatre  iu  Covent  Garden,  in  December,  1732,  I  find  it  announced 
that,  on  account  of  the  great  demand  for  places,  the  pit  and  boxes 
were  laid  together  at  5s.,  the  galleries  at  2s.  and  Is.,  and  to  pre- 
vent the  stage  from  being  crowded,  admission  thereto  was  raised 
to  half  a  guinea.  In  the  former  year,  to  appear  at  the  theatre  in 
a  red  coat  and  a  laced  hat,  indicated  a  rural  beau  who  was  behind 
his  time,  and  had  not  yet  laid  aside  a  fashion  as  old  as  the  days 
of  Great  Nassau.  Dress,  however,  was  indispensable.  Swift  writes 
to  Stella,  on  the  31st  of  August,  iVll,  "Dilly  and  I  walked  to 
Kensington,  to  Lady  Mountjoy,  who  invited  us  to  dinner.  He  re- 
turned soon  to  go  to  the  play,  it  being  the  last  that  will  be  acted 
for  some  time.  He  dresses  himself  like  a  beau,  and  no  doubt 
makes  a  fine  figure."  No  doubt  that  Dillon  Ashe  was  dressed 
in  his  best  that  night,  on  which  he  went  to  Drury,  and  saw 
"  Love's  a  Jest,"  with  Pack  in  Sam  Gaymood,  and  Mrs.  Porter  as 
Lady  Single. 

As  the  government  procured  the  passing  of  the  Licensing  Act 
less  for  the  sake  of  morality  than  to  save  administration  from  the 
shafts  of  satire,  so  the  public  took  it  unkindly  of  them,  but  unrea- 
sonably revenged  themselves  on  innocent  authors.  No  secret  was 
made  of  the  determination  of  play-goers  to  damn  the  first  piece 
that  should  be  stigmatized  with  the  license  of  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain. That  piece  happened  to  be  the  "  Nest  of  Plays,"  by  HiJde- 
brand  Jacob,  represented  at  Covent  Garden,  in  January,  1738, 
which  was  damned  accordingly.  But  the  public  sense  of  wrong 
was  not  yet   appeased.     The   "  Parricide"  subsequently  was   con- 


884  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

(lemiu^d,  soluly  because  it  was  a  licensed  piece.  "  That  my  enc 
niies/'  says  William  Shirley,  the  author,  "  came  resolved  to  exe- 
cute before  trial,  may  be  gathered  from  their  beliavior  ere  the  play 
began,  for  at  five  o'clock  they  engaged  and  overthrew  the  caudles 
in  the  nuisic-room,  and  called  a  council  of  war,  whether  they 
should  attack  the  harpsichord  or  not ;  but  to  your  good  fortune," 
he  adds,  addressing  Rich,  "  it  was  carried  in  the  negative.  Their 
expelling  ladies  from  the  pit,  and  sending  for  wine  to  drink,  were 
likewise  strong  indications  of  their  arbitrary  and  violent  disposi- 
tions." It  is  to  be  observed,  however,  of  a  few  condemned  pieces 
of  this  period,  that  the  authors  rather  abused  their  opportunity  of 
ascribing  their  ill  fortune  solely  to  the  unpopularity  of  the  Licen- 
sing Act. 

The  ushering  of  ladies  out  of  the  pit  was  one  of  the  formal  in- 
dications that  serious  mischief  was  a-foot.  This  was  the  first  cere- 
mony observed  at  Drury  Lane  in  January,  1740,  when  the  riot 
took  place  consequent  on  the  non-appearance  of  a  French  dancer, 
Madame  Chateauneuf.  When  the  ladies  had  been  sent  home,  a 
noble  marquis  suggested,  and  warmly  recommended,  that  it  would 
be  well  and  proper  to  set  fire  to  the  house !  This  atrocious  pro- 
posal was  considered,  but  not  adopted.  The  aristocratic  rioters 
contented  themselves  with  destroying  the  musical  instruments,  fit- 
tings, and  costly  adornments,  sweeping  down  the  panel  partitions 
of  the  boxes,  and  finally  pulling  down  the  royal  arms.  The  offence, 
however,  was  condoned,  on  the  most  noble  marquis  sending  £100 
to  the  manager,  who  submitted  to  defray  the  remainder  of  the 
cost  of  reparation  rather  than  further  provoke  his  excellent 
patrons. 

The  mixture  of  ferocity  and  gallantry  in  the  audiences  of  these 
times  was  remarkable.  When  Miller,  most  unlucky  of  clergymen, 
produced  his  farce  of  the  "  Coffee-House,"  he  caused  the  Temple 
to  heave  with  indignation.  Under  the  temple-gate  there  was  a 
coffee-house,  kept  by  Mrs.  Yarrow  and  her  daughter,  and  as  there 
was  not  only  a  similar  pair  in  Miller's  piece,  but  a  woodcut  on  the 
title-page  of  the  printed  copy,  which  bore  some  likeness  to  the 
siuig  little  place  where  Templars  loved  to  congregate,  those  gentle- 
men took  offence  as  at  an  insult  levelled  at  their  fair  hostesses,  and 
went  down  in  a  body  to  the  theatre,  whence  they  procured  the  ex- 


THE   AUDIENCES   OF    1700 — ITc^O.  385 

pulsion  of  the  piece.  Nor  did  tliey  ever  suffer  a  subsequent  play  of 
Miller's  to  succeed.  The  Templars  never  forgave  him  his  uninten- 
tional caricature  of  the  buxom  hostess,  and  Hebe  her  daughter, 
who  presided  over  the  aromatic  cups  dispensed  by  them  beneath 
the  Temple  gates.  In  contests  like  these,  where  opposition  was 
expected,  it  was  no  unusual  thing  for  one  or  both  parties  to  hiro 
a  body  of  professional  "  bruisers."  The  side  which  possessed  the 
greatest  number  of  these  Bashi-Bazouks,  generally  carried  the  day. 
When  the  town  took  sides,  in  1743,  in  the  quarrel  between  Gar- 
rick  and  Macklin,  where  the  right  was  altogether  with  the  former, 
Dr.  Barrowby  headed  a  phalanx  of  sturdy  Macklinites ;  but  Garrick 
or  Garrick's  friends,  sent  against  them  a  formidable  band  of  thirty 
boxers,  who  went  in,  cracked  skulls,  cleared  the  pit,  and  established 
tranquillity ! 

It  is  curious  to  mark,  at  a  time  when  audiences  bore  with  gross 
wit,  and  were  accustomed,  on  slight  provocation,  to  resort  to  acts 
of  violence,  how  sensitive  they  were  on  other  points.  Poor 
Hughes,  who  died  on  the  first  night  of  the  representation  of  his 
"Siege  of  Damascus,"  in  17'JO,  was  compelled  to  remodel  the 
character  of  Phocyas,  a  Christian  who  turns  Moslem,  as  the  mana- 
gers considered  that  the  audience  would  not  tolerate  the  sight  of 
him  after  his  apostacy.  So  Charles  Killigrew,  Master  of  the  Rev- 
els, cut  out  the  whole  of  the  first  act  from  Gibber's  adaptation  of 
*'  Richard  III.,"  on  the  ground  that  the  Jacobite  portion  of  the 
audience,  in  the  distress  of  King  Henry,  would  be  painfully,  or 
angrily,  reminded  of  the  sorrows  of  King  James.  After  all,  sus- 
ceptible as  audiences  occasionally  were,  the  sensibilities  of  the  gal- 
lery remained  untouched,  or  evidence  of  the  fact  was  offered  in 
an  exaggerated  form.  When  Dryden's  Cleomenes,  or  Rowe's 
Jane  Shore,  used  to  complain  of  the  hunger  under  which  tliey  suf- 
f(!red,  it  was  the  humor  of  the  "gods"  to  fling  bread  down  upon 
the  stage,  by  way  of  showing  their  sympathy,  or  their  Avant  of  it. 

"  All  the  parts  will  be  played  to  the  best  advantage,  the  whole 
of  the  company  being  now  in  town,"  was  no  unusual  bait  thrown 
out  to  win  an  audience.  Sometimes  the  house  would  fill  to  see, 
on  great  occasions,  the  foremost  folk  in  the  laud,  fops  and  fine 
ladies  occupying  the  amphitheatre  erected  on  the  stage,  and  the 
plavers  acting  between  a  double  audience.  What  should  we 
Vol.  T.— 17 


386  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

think  now  of  an  author  taking  a  benefit,  obtaining  at  it  the  presence 
»">f  the  heir  to  the  throne,  and  delivering  an  oration  on  the  condition 
and  merits  of  the  royal  family  and  the  state  of  the  nation  as  re- 
garded foreign  and  domestic  relations  ?  Yet  this  is  what  Durfey  did, 
to  the  deliglit  and  edification  of  his  hearers  at  Drury  Lane,  in  1715. 
On  other  occasions,  plays  were  given  "  for  the  entertainment  of 
the  new  Toasts  and  several  Ladies  of  Quality,"  whereat  crowds 
flocked  to  behold  the  pretty  nymphs  whose  names  consecrated  the 
flowing  bumpers  of  the  beaux,  and  the  married  ladies  who  had 
enjoyed  that  honor  in  their  earlier  days. 

"  The  boxes  still  the  brighter  circles  were ; 
Triumphant  toasts  received  their  homage  there." 

At  other  times,  there  were  less  friendly  and  admiring  gatherings ; 
and  epilogues  laudatory  of  Eugene  and  Marlborough  filled  the 
house  with  friends  and  foes  of  those  illustrious  nlen,  and  furnished 
reasons  for  very  unreasonable  conflicts.  A  flourish  of  the  pen, 
too,  in  the  Tatler  or  Spectator,  could  send  half  the  town  to  fight 
for  vacant  benches ;  and  it  was  remarked  that  there  was  scarcely 
a  comedian  of  merit  who  had  not  been  recommended  to  the  public 
in  the  former  journal.     But  to  see  these,  there  often  only  thronged 

'•  Poets  free  o'  th'  house,  and  beaux  who  never  pay." 

These  non-paying  beaux  were  as  troublesome  to  players  as  to 
audience.  In  vain  were  they  warned  off  the  stage,  where,  indeed, 
halfa-guinea  could  always  find  admission  for  them,  even  after  the 
managers  had  decreed  that  the  way  should  be  barred,  though 
Potosi  itself  were  offered  for  a  bribe.  In  1721,  half-a-dozen  tipsy 
beaux,  with  one  among  them  of  the  degree  of  an  Earl,  who  was 
wont  to  be  tipsy  for  a  week  together,  raised  a  riot,  to  avenge  an 
affront,  in  the  theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  His  lordship 
crossed  the  stage,  while  Macbeth  and  his  lady  were  upon  it,  to 
speak  to  a  boon  companion,  who  was  lolling  at  the  opposite  wing. 
There,  too,  stood  Rich,  the  manager,  who  told  the  peer  that,  after 
such  an  act  of  indecorum,  he  should  never  be  admitted  behind  the 
scenes  again.  The  Earl  looked  up,  and,  steadying  himself,  ad- 
ministered to  Rich  a  smart  slap  on  the  face,  which  Rich  returned 


THE   AUDIENCES   OF   1700-1750.  387 

with  interest.  Swords  flashed  forth  in  a  minute  from  half-a-dozen 
scabbards,  whose  laced  and  lordly  owners  solemnly  decreed  that 
Rich  must  die.  But  Quin,  and  Ryan,  and  Walker,  rushed  to  the 
rescue,  with  their  own  weapons  naked  in  their  hands.  With  aid 
of  some  other  members  of  the  company,  they  made  front,  charged 
the  coxcombs,  and  drove  them  headlong  out  at  the  stage  door  and 
into  the  kennel.  The  beaux  waxed  wroth ;  but  executing  a  great 
strategic  movement,  they  stormed  the  front  of  the  house,  and  rush- 
ing into  the  boxes,  they  cut  and  thrust  right  and  left,  broke  the 
sconces,  slashed  the  hangings,  and  were  proceeding  to  do  further 
mischief, — "  fire  the  house  !"  was  ever  a  favorite  threat  with  these 
bullies,  when  doughty  Quin,  and  a  body  of  constables  and  watch- 
men, flung  themselves  on  the  rioters,  and  carried  all  they  caught 
before  the  magistrates,  by  whom  they  were  committed  for  trial. 
Ultimately,  the  affair  was  compromised ;  but  there  is  evidence 
that  the  actors  were  intimidated,  inasmuch  as  they  issued  a  decla- 
ration that  they  would  "  desist  from  acting  till  proper  care  be 
taken  to  pi'event  the  like  disorders  for  the  future."  The  house 
was  closed  for  ncai'ly  a  week ;  and,  to  prevent  such  outrages  in 
future,  the  angry  King,  who  took  an  interest  in  theatrical  matters, 
ordered  that  a  guard  should  attend  during  the  performances  at 
either  house.  This  was  the  origin  of  the  attendance  of  soldiers, — 
a  custom  which  ceased  at  the  patent  theatres  only  a  few  years 
eince. 

In  the  sight  of  an  exceedingly  "  free"  people,  the  guard  was  an 
insult,  which  the  mob,  and  not  the  beaux,  resented.  It  was  a 
popular  pastime  to  pelt  them,  till  the  terrors  of  the  Prison-Gate 
House  terminated  the  folly.  The  mob,  indeed,  loved  a  riot,  quite 
as  dearly  as  the  "  quality,"  and  were  especially  ungallant  to  the 
aspiring  young  ladies  on  the  gtage.  West's  tragedy  of  "  Hecuba" 
entirely  failed  at  Drury  Lane,  in  1726,  through  the  vandalism  of 
the  galleries,  who,  as  capricious  as  my  lords  below,  hissed  the 
"young  actresses"  from  beginning  to  end;  and  yet  those  "young 
actresses"  were  Mrs.  Gibber,  and  other  "  darlings"  of  the  town. 

Golley  Gibber  once  pleaded  the  gracious  presence  of  a  prince  in 
order  to  win  propriety  of  conduct  from  an  audience ;  at  other 
times,  the  more  gracious  presence  of  a  poet  won  respect.  This 
was  the  case  on  that  hot  night  in  June,    1730,  when  "George 


3S8  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

Barnwell"  was  first  played  at  Drury  Lane.  The  audience  bad  sup- 
plied themselves  with  the  old  ballad  on  the  subject  of  that  famous 
apprentice  lad, — intending  to  make  ludicrous  contrast  between  the 
story  there  and  that  in  the  tragedy  ;  but  Pope  was  present,  serious 
and  attentive,  aud  the  rough  critics,  taking  their  cue  from  him, 
followed  his  example  ;  at  least,  they  threw  away  their  ballads,  took 
out  their  handkerchiefs,  and  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  wicked  lad, 
M)  admirably  played  by  that  prince  of  scamps,  Theophilus  Gibber, 
Such  a  warning  did  he  hold  out  to  evil  doers,  that  influential 
people  of  quality  and  reflecting  city  merchants  used  occasionally, 
for  years,  to  "  command"  the  playing  of  this  tragedy,  as  whole- 
some instruction  for  apprentices  in  particular,  and  a  wicked  young 
public,  generally. 

Among  the  influential  part  of  the  audience,  may  be  numbered 
the  ladies.  It  was  at  their  particular  request  that  the  pail  of 
Bookish,  in  Fielding's  "  Old  Man  taught  Wisdom,"  was  omitted 
after  the  first  night,  on  account  of  some  rude  sentiments,  touching 
the  superiority  of  man  over  woman, — or  of  Bookish  over  Lucy  ! 
Considering  how  women,  and  audiences  generally,  were  roughly 
handled  in  prologues  and  epilogues,  the  deference  otherwise  paid 
to  the  latter  seems  singular.  For  instance :  the  company  at  the 
Haymarket,  in  1735,  announced  that  they  would  "  continue  to  act  on 
Tuesdays  and  Fridays,  as  long  as  they  shall  deserve  the  favor  of 
the  town." 

The  most  exacting  portion  of  the  audience,  however,  was  to  be 
found  in  the  footmen.  From  the  earliest  times,  they  had  been 
famous  for  their  "  toaring ;"  and  Dryden  speaks  of  them  as  a 
nuisance,  than  which  there  was  no  greater,  except  "their  unpaying 
masters."  These  masters  had  small  chance  of  hearing  the  play, 
unless  their  lackeys  gave  permission.  The  plan  of  opening  the 
uj>per  gallery  to  these  fellows,  gratis,  in  1697,  was  an  aggravation 
rather  than  a  palliative  of  the  evil ;  but  the  privilege,  although  at 
various  times  suspended,  was  not  finally  abolished  till  about  1780. 
As  many  as  three  hundred  of  the  party-colored  tribe  have  been 
known  to  unite,  armed,  in  support  of  the  privilege  which  they 
invariably  abused.  Of  authors  present  at  the  condemnation  of 
their  own  piecps,  and  of  the  philosophy,  or  lack  of  it,  with  which 
they  bore  their  calamity,  I  shall  have  to  speak  presently ;  but  T  am 


THE  AUDIENCES  OF  17oO-1750.  38» 

tempted  to  notice  here,  as  illustrations  of  the  audience  side  of  the 
theatre,  the  appearance  of  dramatists  in  state,  witnessing  the 
triumphs  of  their  pieces.  When  the  "  Conscious  Lovers"  was  first 
played  at  Drury  Lane,  in  1722,  Steele  sat  in  what  was  called 
IJurton's  box, — an  enclosed  part  in  the  centre  of  the  first  gallery, 
where  places  were  kept  at  pit  prices.  From  this  lofty  elevation, 
Steele  enjoyed  the  success  of  a  piece  which  respected  decency 
tliroughout,  and  he  awarded  approval  to  all  the  actors  concerned, 
except  Griffin,  who  played  Cimberton.  Fielding  laughed  at  this 
novel  comedy,  as  being  "  as  good  as  a  sermon ;"  and  later  writers 
liave  ridiculed  the  author  for  preferring  to  show  what  manners 
ought  to  be,  rather  than  wliat  they  are ;  but  Steele's  play — a  leetle 
dull  though  it  be — was  creditable  to  him,  and  a  benefit  to  the 
stage. 

Political  application  of  passages  in  plays  was  frequently  and 
eagerly  made  by  the  audiences  of  those  days, — though  Walpole 
records  an  incident  of  lack  of  observation  in  this  respect,  as  well 
as  of  readiness.  When  his  father.  Sir  Robert,  was  threatened  with 
impeachment,  in  1742,  Horace  ridiculed  the  want  of  frankness  on 
the  part  of  the  ministry.  "  The  minds  of  the  people  grow  much 
more  candid,"  he  says  ;  "  at  first,  they  made  one  of  the  actors  at  Drury 
Lane  repeat  some  applicable  lines  at  the  end  of '  Henry  IV. ;' 
but,  last  Monday,  when  his  royal  highness  (the  Prince  of  Wales) 
had  purposely  bespoken  '  The  Unhappy  Favorite,'  for  Mrs.  Porter's 
benefit,  they  never  once  applied  the  most  glaring  passages ;  as, 
where  they  read  the  indictment  against  Robert  Earl  of  Essex,  4fcc., 
&c." 

We  have  seen  Kings  at  the  play  in  presence  of  their  people ; 
and  poets  were  often  there,  receiving  as  warm  welcome  as  kings. 
When  Thomson's  "  Agamemnon"  was  first  played.  Pope  was 
present,  and  he  was  received,  we  are  told  by  Johnson,  "  with  a 
general  clap."  This  shows  how  familiar  London  audiences  were 
with  their  great  men,  and  that  the  same  men  must  often  have  ex 
hibited  themselves  to  the  same  audiences ; — the  Londoners  being 
then  the  great  play-goers.  On  the  same  night,  the  author  of  the 
drama  was  himself  seated,  not  near  Pope,  but  in  the  centre  of  the 
gallery,  surrounded  by  some  friends.  There,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Gib- 
ber and  Mrs.  Furnival  entered  and  spoke,  he  began  to  accoii;pany 


390  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

tliein,  by  audible  declamation,  which  his  friends  had  some  diflBculty 
ill  checking.  Johnson,  when  "  Irene"  was  played,  was  more  dig 
uified  and  more  calm.  He  sat  forward  in  a  conspicuous  side  box, 
solemnly  dressed  for  the  occasion,  his  wig  new  curled,  a  bright 
scarlet  waistcoat — gold  laced,  purchased  for  the  nonce, — and  a 
tranquil,  majestic  look  about  him,  which  the  pit  frequently  con- 
templated with  approval.  The  poet  was  being  judged  by  the 
people.  But  poet  and  people  were  there  to  heed  the  players ;  and 
let  us  now  follow  their  example. 


EXIT,   JAMES  QUIN.  391 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

EXIT,    JAMES    QUIN. 

The  opposition  between  Garrick  and  Barry  was  well  sustained 
during  the  season  of  1752-3.  The  former  had  a  forcible  second 
and  substitute  in  Mossop,  and  an  attractive  lady  to  woo  in 
comedy,  or  slay  in  tragedy,  in  Miss  (or  Mrs.)  Bellamy  ;  but  a  more 
accomplished  still  in  Mrs.  Pritchard.  At  the  Garden,  Barry  was 
at  his  very  best  in  health  and  acting,  and  Mrs.  Gibber  in  the  full 
bloom  of  her  beauty  and  her  powers.  It  was  a  pity  that  such  a 
pair  of  lovers  should  be  separated,  "  for  no  two  persons  were  so 
calculated  to  assist  each  other,  by  voice,  manner,  and  real  feeling, 
as  they  were ;"  but,  as  Wilkinson  records,  "  at  the  close  of  this 
season  they  separated,  never  to  meet  again  on  the  same  stage." 
Meanwhile,  fashion  patronized  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Pritchard,  rather 
more  lavi'*hly  than  the  rival  pair. 

-  Each  had  their  especial  triumphs  in  new  pieces.  Garrick  and 
Mrs.  Pritchard  in  Moore's  "  Gamester,"  first  played  on  the  7th 
February,  1753  (Beverley,  Garrick ;  Lewson,  Mossop;  Stukely. 
Davies ;  Mrs.  Beverley,  Mrs.  Pritchard),  and  Barry  and  Mrs.  Gib- 
ber in  Jones's  "  Earl  of  Essex,"  produced  at  the  Garden,  February 
21st.  Admirable  as  Garrick  was  in  Beverley,  Mrs.  Pritchard 
carried  off  the  chief  honors,  so  natural,  so  terribly  real,  and  so  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  the  audience  was  she  in  her  acting.  She 
was  quite  "  at  home"  in  this  prose  tragedy ;  the  severe  lesson  in 
which,  however,  after  terrifjdng,  began  to  displease  hearers,  who 
did  not  relish  the  caustic  laid  to  their  darling  vice. 

Let  me  also  mention  here  Young's  tragedy,  "  The  Brothers," 
written  thiity  years  before,  previous  to  his  ordination,  amended 
by  Lady  Wortley  Montague,  and  now  played  in  March,  1753. 

As  soon  as  Young  surrendered  this  piece  to  the  players,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel,  he  wa.s 
immersed  in  the  very  thickest  of  theatrical  squabbles,  to  the  dis- 


'.3i;'2  l<okan's  ais'nals  of  the  stage. 

grace  of  his  clerical  profession.  George  Anne  Bellamy,  that 
capricious  beauty  on  whom  the  delighted  town  showered  fortune, 
who  rode  one  day  in  gilded  chariots,  and  the  next  was  lying  on 
the  lowest  of  the  steps  at  Westminster  Bridge,  wrapped  in  miser}', 
and  contemplating  suicide  ;  the  irresistible  Bellamy  was  then  the 
idol  of  the  world  of  fashion,  and  Young  readily  acceded  to  her 
request  that  she  might  read  "  The  Brothers"  to  the  players.  The 
request  rendered  Garrick  furious,  although  it  was  grounded  on  the 
young  lady's  personal  knowledge  of  the  author.  The  green-rt  oni 
was  in  an  uproar.  Roscius  claimed  the  principal  part  for  Mrs. 
Pritchard;  and  when  George  Anne  poutingly  offered  to  surrender 
the  character  assigned  her  by  the  doctor,  Young  vehemently  op- 
posed it  with  an  emphatic  "  No,  no  !"  Mrs.  Bellamy  accordingly 
read  the  piece,  and  assumed  the  liberty  of  criticising  it.  She  ex- 
pressly objected  to  the  line,  "  I  will  speak  to  you  in  thunder,"  as 
not  being  in  a  concatenation  with  the  delicacy  of  the  fine  lady 
who  utters  it.  The  reverend  author  protested  that  it  was  the 
most  forcible  line  in  the  piece ;  but  Mrs.  Bellamy  thought  it 
would  be  more  so  if  it  were  improved  by  the  introduction  of 
"  lightning"  as  well  as  thunder. 

The  good  doctor  was  something  nettled  at  the  lady's  wit;  and 
he  declared  that  "  The  Brothers"  was  the  best  piece  he  had 
ever  written.  "I  am  afraid,  doctor,"  rejoined  the  lady,  pertly, 
"that  you  will  do  with  me  as  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo  did  with 
Gil  Bias  on  a  similar  occasion.  But  I  cannot  help  reminding  you 
of  a  tragedy  called  the  '  Revenge  !' "  The  author  took  the  re- 
mark in  considerable  dudgeon  ;  but  the  sparkling  young  actress, 
who  sincerely  esteemed  him,  exerted  all  her  powers  to  smooth  the 
plumage  that  her  wit  had  ruffled ;  and  she  did  this  with  such 
effect,  that  the  doctor,  after  ofiering  to  cancel  the  line  objected  to, 
invited  himself  to  dine  with  her,  and  did  so  in  company  with 
Garrick,  and  rough  Quin.  "  Tlie  IJrothers"  was  acted  to  tliin 
houses  for  eight  nights,  and  then  quietly  shelved.  The  author 
realized  £400  by  it;  to  which  adding  from  his  private  purse 
=£600  more,  he  gave  the  handsome  sum  of  £1,000  to  the  Society 
for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel.  The  author  was  displeased 
alike  with  the  town,  and  witli  the  players.  The  truth  is,  however, 
tiia;  the  fiiult  lay  as  much  with  himself  as  with  either.     The  play 


EXIT,    JAMES    QUIN.  393 

was  not  original,  but  taken  without  acknowledgment,  from  various 
sources.  A  great  portion  is  almost  literally  translated  from  the 
French  piece,  Persee  et  Demetrius.  Many  of  the  speeches  are 
taken  piecemeal  from  Livy. 

The  contest  in  the  third  act  is  splendidly  phrased;  but  the  de- 
nouement is  so  confused  and  incomplete,  that  Young  was  obliged 
to  add  an  epilogue  to  explain  what  was  supposed  to  take  place  at, 
and  after,  the  tall  of  the  curtain !  Garrick  substituted  a  coarse 
epilogue,  which  was  spoken  by  sprightly  Kitty  Clive,  who  loved 
to  give  coarseness  all  its  point ;  but  it  could  not  save  the  piece ; 
and  it  seriously  offended  the  author.  Since  then  "  The  Brothers" 
has  descended  into  that  oblivion  which  fittingly  enfolds  nearly  all 
the  classical  tragedies  of  the  last  century.  It  is  not  without  its 
beauties ;  bxit  it  does  not  picture  the  period  it  afiects  to  portray. 
The  "  sir"  and  "  madam"  sound  as  harshly  as  the  "  citizen  Agamem- 
non,^'' which  the  French  Republic  introduced  into  Racine's  plays  ; 
and  the  epithets  are  only  one  degree  less  absurd  than  the  Oui, 
Milor,  which  Voltaire's  Beersheba  addresses  to  King  David. 

Barry's  Jaffier,  played  for  the  first  time  on  the  21st  of  Novem- 
ber, 1752,  placed  him  on  an  equality  with  Garrick  in  that  charac- 
ter ;  but  he  was  not  so  great  in  this  as  in  Jones's  tragedy,  the 
"  Earl  of  Essex,"  which  he  played  on  the  21st  of  Februaiy,  to 
Smith's  Southampton,  and  the  Countess  of  Rutland  of  Mrs.  Gibber. 
One  sentence  in  this  tragedy,  uttered  by  Barry,  seems  to  have  had 
an  almost  incredible  effect.  When  the  Earl,  pointing  to  the  Count- 
ess of  Rutland,  in  a  savooh,  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  look  there  !"  Barry's 
attitude  and  pathetic  expression  of  voice  were  such  that  "  all  the 
critics  in  the  pit  burst  into  tears,  and  then  shook  the  theatre  with 
repeated  and  unbounded  applause."  The  bricklayer  poet,  whom 
Chesterfield  brought  from  Drogheda,  only  to  ultimately  die,  half- 
starved,  in  a  garret  near  Covcnt  Garden,  attributed  the  success  of 
the  piece  to  his  own  powers,  whereas  it  was  due  to  the  wonderful 
acting  of  Barry  and  Mrs.  Gibber  alone. 

With  tins  season,  James  Quin  disappeared  from  the  stage.  For 
a  year  or  two  he  had  not  acted.  The  triumphs  of  Garrick,  fol- 
lowed by  those  of  Bariy,  drove  from  the  scene  the  old  player  wlio 
for  nearlv  forty  years,  belonged  to  the  now  bygone  school  of  Bet- 
tcrton,  but  particularly  of  Booth,  whose  succession  he  worthily 
17* 


"394  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

held,  rather  than  of  Garrick.  James  Quin  stands,  however, 
worthily  among,  if  not  on  a  level  with,  those  actors  of  two  different 
eras,  having  something  of  each,  but  yet  distinct  from  either. 
Such  a  man  deserves  a  few  words  in  addition  to  those  I  have 
already  wi'ltten. 

The  theatrical  life  of  Quin  embraces  the  following  dates.  James 
Quin  began  his  career  in  Dublin,  in  I7l4,  and  ended  it  at  Bath, 
in  1753.  His  first  character  was  Able,  in  the  "Committee,"  his 
last,  Hamlet,  played  at  Bath  (whither  he  had  retired),  not  for  hiKS 
own  benefit,  but  for  that  of  his  friend,  Ryan.  Of  doing  kindnesses 
to  friends,  James  Quin  was  never  weary ;  and  if  he  did  say  that 
Garrick,  in  Othello,  looked  like  the  black  boy  in  Hogarth's  picture, 
he  was  only  temporarily  jealous  of  Koscius.  Quin  was  a  careless 
dresser  of  his  characters ;  and  ho  liad  a  sharp  sarcasm,  but  not  a 
lasting  ill-feeling,  for  those  who  pretended  to  better  taste  and 
gave  it  practical  application. 

I  have  already  spoken  of  Quin's  early  life ;  his  English  birth, 
his  Irish  breeding,  his  disputed  legitimacy,  and  his  succession  to 
an  estate,  from  which  he  was  debarred  by  the  rightful  proprietors. 
Necessity  and  some  qualifications  directed  him  to  the  Dublin 
stage,  where  he  played  under  Ashbury,  Queen  An-ae's  old  master 
of  elocution.  Quin,  then  about  onc-and-twenty,  gave  such  prom- 
ise that  Chetwood,  the  prompter,  recommended  him  "  to  try  Lon- 
don," where,  at  Drury  Lane,  during  three  seasons,  he  played  what- 
ever character  he  was  cast  for,  and  made  use  of  opportunity 
whenever  that  character  happened  to  be  a  prominent  one. 

In  1718,  Quia  passed  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  where,  for  four 
years,  he  was  the  great  support  of  that  house.  I  have  previously 
noticed  his  misadventure  with  Bowen,  the  actor,  whom  he  slew 
in  honest  self-defence,  under  great  provocation.  It  wa.s  kind- 
hearted,  but  hot-blooded  Quin's  hard  fate  to  kill  two  actors.  A 
subordinate  player,  named  Williams,  was  the  Decius  to  Quin's 
Cato.  Williams,  in  delivering  the  line,  "  Caesar  sends  health  to 
Cato,"  pronounced  the  last  name  so  affectedly — something  like 
"  Keeto" — that  Quin,  in  his  impatience,  could  not  help  exclaiming, 
"  Would  he  had  sent  a  better  messenger  !"  This  greatly  irritated 
the  little  Welsh  actor, — the  more  that  he  had  to  repeat  the  name 
in  nearly  every  sentence  of  his  scene  with  Cato,  and  Quin  did  not 


EXIT,    JAMES   QUIN,  3*J5 

fail  to  look  so  hard  at  him  when  he  pronounced  the  name,  that 
the  secondary  player's  irritation  was  at  the  highest  when  the 
spcne  concluded  ;  and  Decius  turned  away,  with  the  remark, 

"  When  I  relate,  hereafter, 
The  tale  of  this  unhappy  embassy, 
All  Rome  will  be  in  tears." 

That  tale,  Williams  went  and  told  in  the  green-room,  where  he 
waited  for  Quin,  who  came  off  at  the  end  of  the  two  scenes  more, 
after  uttering  the  word,  "  death."  It  was  what  he  brought,  with- 
out meaning  it,  to  the  irascible  Welshman,  who  attacked  him  on 
the  not  unreasonable  ground  that  Quin  had  rendered  him  ridien- 
lous  in  the  eyes  of  the  audience ;  and  he  demanded  the  satisfac- 
tion which  gentlemen  who  wore  swords  were  in  the  habit  of  giving 
to  each  ©ther.  Quin  treated  the  affair  as  a  mere  joke,  but  the 
Welsh  actor  would  not  be  soothed.  After  the  play,  he  lay  in 
wait  for  the  offender  in  the  Covent  Garden  Piazza,  where  much 
malapert  blood  was  often  spilled.  There  Quin  could  not  refuse  to 
defend  himself,  however  ill-disposed  he  was  to  accept  the  combat, 
and  after  a  few  passes,  Williams  lay  lifeless  on  the  flag-stones,  and 
Quin  was  arrested  by  the  watch.  Ultimately,  he  was  absolved 
from  blame,  and  no  further  harm  came  of  it  than  the  lasting  regret 
of  having  shed  the  blood  of  a  fellow-creature. 

At  a  later  period,  Quin  was  well-nigh  slaying  a  more  ignoble 
foe  than  Williams,  namely,  Theophilus  Gibber,  whose  scoundrelly 
conduct  towards  his  beautiful  and  accomplished  wife,  Quin  alluded 
t-o,  under  a  very  forcible  epithet  applied  to  her  husband.  Out  of 
this  incident  arose  a  quarrel,  and  swords  were  again  drawn  in  the 
Piazza,  where  Quin  and  Gibber  slashed  each  other  across  the  arm 
and  fingers,  till  they  were  parted  by  the  bystanders. 

Tn  1732,  Quin,  with  the  company  from  the  "Fields,"  established 
himself  in  the  new  theatre  in  Covent  Garden,  whence,  after  two 
seasons,  he  passed  to  Drury  Lane,  where  he  continued  till  1741  ; 
after  which,  with  some  intervals,  he  again  enrolled  himself  at  the 
"Garden,"  where  he  remained  till  he  quietly  withdrew,  in  1751. 
Of  his  rivalry  with  (rarrick,  I  have  already  said  something.  If  he 
was  vanquished  in  that  contest,  he  was  not  humiliated,  though  I 
think  he  was  a  little  humbled    in    spirit.       His    great  merit  is, 


396  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

nevertheless,  incontestable.  His  Cato  and  Brutus  were  good ;  lie 
was  excellent  in  Henry  VHL,  Volpone,  Glo'ster,  Apeinantus,  Ven- 
tidius,  the  Old  Bachelor,  and  "all  the  Falstafts."  He  was  happy 
only  in  a  few  speeches  of  Pierre,  especially,  "I  could  have  hugged 
the  greasy  rogues,  they  pleased  me  so !"  and  his  execration  of  the 
senate.  His  Plain  Dealer  is  commended,  and  the  soliloquies  of  Zan- 
ga  are  eulogized.  His  Macheath  and  some  other  operatic  parts,  ho 
played  and  sung  extremely  well.  His  failures  were  Macbeth,  Othello, 
Richard,  Lear,  Chamont,  and  Young  Bevil.  His  continuing  to  play 
these  in  opposition  to  Garrick  and  Barry  censures  his  judgment. 
Davies  says,  he  often  gave  true  weight  and  dignity  to  sentiment  by 
a  well  regulated  tone  of  voice,  judicious  elocution,  and  easy  deport- 
ment. The  expression  of  the  tender,  as  well  as  of  the  violent,  emo- 
tions of  the  heart  was  beyond  his  reach.  The  plain  and  the  familiar 
rather  than  the  striking  and  the  vigorous  became  him  whose  action 
was  either  forced  or  languid,  and  whose  movements  were  ponderous 
or  sluggish.  From  the  retirement  of  Booth  till  the  coming  of  Gar- 
rick, Quin  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  a  rival,  unless  it  were  the 
clever  but  lazy  Delane,  whose  self-indulgence  was  not  accompanied 
by  the  energy  and  industry  which  went  with  that  of  Quin.  As  De- 
lane  fell  before  Quin,  so  did  Quin  fall  before  the  younger  energy, 
and  power,  and  perseverance,  of  Garrick.  James's  prophecy  that 
the  latter,  in  founding  a  new  religion,— like  Whitefield,  would  be 
followed  for  a  time,  but  that  people  would  all  come  to  church 
again,  was  not  fulfilled. 

Nevertheless,  it  produced  a  very  fair  epigram : — 

"  Pope  Quin,  who  damns  all  churches  but  his  own, 
Complains  that  Heresy  affects  the  town. 
That  Whitefield  G-arrick  now  misleads  the  age. 
And  taints  the  sound  religion  of  the  stage. 
'  Schism  I'  he  cries,   'has  turn'd  the  nation's  brain;' 
'But  eyes  will  open,  and  to  church  again!' 
Thou  great  Infallible,  forbear  to  roar, 
Thy  bulls  and  errors  are  rever'd  no  more. 
When  doctrines  meet  with  gen'ral  approbation, 
It  is  not  Heresy,  but  Reformation." 

(^uin  has  left  some  reputation  as  a  humorist.     Biographers  give 
the  name   of  his  tutor  in   Dublin,  hut   they   add  that  Quin  was 


EXIT,    JAMES    QUIN.  397 

illiterate,  a  character  which  is  hardly  established  by  the  best  of  his 
t>ons  mots.  That  he  was  not  well  read,  even  in  the  literature  of 
that  profession,  of  which  he  was  so  distinguished  a  member,  is 
certain ;  but  he  boasted  that  he  could  read  men  more  readily 
than  books,  and  it  is  certain  that  his  observation  was  acute,  and  the 
application  of  what  he  learned  thereby,  electrically  prompt. 

If  he  was  inexorable  in  enforcing  the  payment  of  what  was  due 
to  him,  he  was  also  nobly  generous  with  the  fortune  he  amassed. 
Meanness  was  not  among  the  faults  of  Quin.  The  greatest  injury 
has  been  done  to  his  memory  by  the  publication  of  jests,  of  a  very 
reprehensible  character,  and  which  were  said  to  be  his,  merely  to 
quicken  their  sale.  He  lived  in  coarse  times,  and  his  jokes  may 
have  been,  now  and  then,  of  a  coarse  quality  ;  but  he  also  said  some 
of  the  finest  things  that  ever  fell  from  the  lips  of  an  intellectual  wit. 

Of  all  Quin's  jests,  there  is  nothing  finer  than  two  which  elicited 
the  warm  approval  of  Horace  Walpole.  Bishop  Warburton,  in 
company  at  Bath,  spoke  in  support  of  prerogative.  Quin  said, 
"  Pray,  my  Lord,  spare  me ;  you  are  not  acquainted  with  my  prin- 
ciples. I  am  a  republican  ;  and,  perhaps,  I  even  think  that  the 
execution  of  Charles  I.  might  be  justified."  "Ay!"  said  War- 
burton,  "  by  what  law  ?"  Quin  replied ;  "  by  all  the  laws  he  had 
left  them."  Walpole  saw  the  sum  of  the  whole  controversy 
couched  in  those  eight  monosyllables ;  and  the  more  he  examined 
the  sententious  truth  the  finer  he  found  it.  The  Bishop  thought 
otherwise,  and  "  would  have  got  ofi"  upon  judgments."  He  bade 
the  player  remember  that  all  the  regicides  came  to  violent  ends — 
a  lie,  but  no  matter.  "  I  would  not  advise  your  Lordship,"  said 
Quia,  "  to  make  use  of  that  inference,  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
that  was  the  case  of  the  twelve  apostles."  Archbishop  Whately 
could  not  have  more  logically  overthrown  conclusions  which  discern 
God's  anger  in  individual  afflictions. 

There  is  little  wonder,  then,  that  Warburton  disliked  Quin  ; 
indeed,  there  was  not  much  love  lost  between  the  two  men,  who 
frequently  met  as  guests  in  the  house  of  Ralph  Allen,  of  Prior 
Park,  Bath — the  original  of  Fielding's  Squire  Allworthy,  and  the 
uncle  (Walpole  says,  the  father)  of  Warburton's  wife.  The 
Bishop,  seldom  courteous  to  any  man,  treated  Quin  with  an  oft'en- 
sively  patronizing  air,  and   endeavored  to  make  him  feel  the  dis- 


398  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

tance  between  them.  There  was  only  a  difference  in  their  voca- 
tions, for  Quin,  by  birth,  was,  perhaps,  rather  a  better  gentleman 
than  Warburton.  The  latter,  once,  at  Allen's  house,  where  the 
prelate  is  said  to  have  admonished  the  player  on  his  too  luxurious 
way  of  living  (the  bishop,  however,  loving  custard  not  less  than 
the  actor  did  John  Dory),  requested  him,  as  he  could  not  see  him 
on  the  stage,  to  recite  some  passages  from  dramatic  authors,  in 
presence  of  a  large  company  then  assembled  in  the  drawing-room. 
Quin  made  some  little  difficulty ;  but  after  a  well-simulated  hesita- 
tion consented,  and  stood  up  to  deliver  passages  from  "  Venice 
Preserved ;"  but  in  reciting  the  lines 

"  Honest  men. 
Are  the  soft  easy  cushions  on  which  knaves 
Repose  and  fatten," 

he  so  pointedly  directed  his  looks,  at  "honest  men"  to  Allen,  and 
at  "  knaves"  to  Warburton,  that  the  company  universally  marked 
the  application,  and  the  bishop  never  asked  for  a  taste  of  the 
actor's  quality  again.  And  yet  he  is  reported  to  have  imitated 
this  very  act,  with  less  warrant  for  it.  When  Dr.  Terrick  had  been 
recently  (in  1764)  promoted  from  Peterborough  to  the  see  of 
London,  a  preferment  coveted  by  Warburton,  the  latter  preached 
a  sermon  at  the  Chapel  Royal,  at  which  the  new  Bishop  of  London 
was  present,  amid  more  august  members  of  the  congregation. 
Warburton  took  occasion  to  say  that  a  government  which  conferred 
the  high  trusts  of  the  church  on  illiterate  and  worthless  objects 
betrayed  the  interests  of  religion  ; — and  on  saying  so,  he  stared 
Terrick  full  in  the  face. 

There  was  no  man  for  whom  Quin  had  such  distaste  as  this 
unpleasant  Bishop  of  Gloucester,  who  published  an  edition  of 
Shakspeare.  When  this  was  announced,  the  actor  remarked  in 
the  green-room  of  old  Drury,  •*  He  had  better  mind  his  own 
Bible,  and  leave  ours  to  us !"  Quin  was  undoubtedly  open  to 
censure  on  the  score  of  his  epicurism.  He  is  said  to  have  so  loved 
John  Dory  as  to  declare,  that  for  the  enjoyment  of  it,  a  man 
"  should  have  a  swallow  from  here  to  the  antipodes,  and  palate  all 
the  way !"  and  we  are  told  that  if,  on  his  servant  calling  him  in 
the  morning,  he  heard  that  there  was  no  John  Dory  in  the  market. 


EXIT,   JAMES   QUIN.  399 

he  would  turn  round,  and  lazily  remark,  "  then  call  ine  again  to- 
morrow." But  these  are  tales  more  or  less  colored  to  illustrate 
his  way  of  life.  There  is  one  which  has  more  probability  in  it, 
which  speaks  of  another  incident  at  Bath.  Lord  Chesterfield  saw 
a  couple  of  chairmen  helping  a  heavy  gentleman  into  a  sedan,  and 
he  asked  his  servant  if  he  knew  who  that  stout  gentleman  was? 
"  Only  Mr.  Quin,  my  lord,  going  home,  as  usual,  from  the  '  Three 
l\ins.'  "  "  Nay,  sir,"  answered  my  lord,  "  I  think  Mr.  Quin  is 
taking  one  of  the  three  home  with  him  under  his  waistcoat !" 

His  capacity  was  undoubtedly  great,  but  the  overtesting  it  occa- 
sionally aflfected  his  acting.  An  occasion  on  which  he  was  play- 
ing Balance,  in  the  "  Recruiting  Officer,"  Mrs.  "VVoffington  acting 
Sylvia,  his  daughter,  affords  an  instance.  In  the  second  scene  of 
the  second  act  he  should  have  asked  his  daughter  :  "  Sylvia,  how 
old  were  you  when  your  mother  died  .^"  instead  of  which  he  said 
"  married.''''  Sylvia  laughed,  and  being  put  out  of  her  cue,  could 
only  stammer,  "  What,  sir  ?"  "  Pshaw  !"  cried  the  more  confused 
justice ;  "  I  mean,  how  old  were  you  when  your  mother  was  born  ?" 
Mrs.  Woffington  recovered  her  self-possession,  and  taking  the 
proper  cue,  said,  "  You  mean,  sir,  Avhen  my  mother  died.  Alas ! 
so  young,  that  I  do  not  remember  I  ever  had  one ;  and  you  have 
been  so  careful,  so  indulgent  to  me,  ever  since,  that  indeed  I  never 
wanted  one." 

In  his  latest  days,  his  powers  of  retort  never  failed  him.  He 
was  in  that  closing  season  when  a  fop  condoled  with  him  on  grow- 
ing old,  and  asked  what  the  actor  would  give  to  be  as  young  as 
he  was  ?  "  I  would  almost  be  content  to  be  as  foolish !"  was 
Quin's  reply. 

Old  llippisley,  who,  from  a  candle-snuffer  became  a  favorite  lew 
comedian,  owed  much  of  his  power  of  exdting  mirth  to  a  queer  ex- 
pression in  his  distorted  face,  caused  by  a  scar  from  a  severe  burn. 
Having  some  intention  to  put  his  son  on  the  stage,  he  asked  Quin's 
advice  as  to  the  preparatory  measures.  "  Hippy  !"  said  Quin,  "  you 
had  better  begin  by  burning  him." 

Nobody  bore  with  his  sharp  sayings  more  cheerfully  than  Mrs. 
Woffington.  We  all  know  his  remark,  when  Margaret,  coming  off" 
the  stage  as  Sir  Harry  Wildair,  declared  that  she  believed  one 
half  the  house  thought  she  was  a  man.     Less  known  is  his  com- 


400  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

ment  when,  on  asking  lier  why  slie  had  been  to  Bath  ?  she 
answered,  saucily, — "  Oh,  for  mere  wantonness !"  whereon,  Quin 
retorted  with,  "  And  have  you  been  cured  of  it  ?" 

He  was  one  of  the  few  men  who  could  stand  a  fall  with  Footc, 
and  come  oft"  the  better  man.  Foote,  who  could  not  endure  a  joke 
made  on  himself,  broke  friendship  with  Quin  on  account  of  such 
offence.  Ultimately  they  were  reconciled ;  but  even  then  Foote 
referred  to  the  provocation.  "  Jemmy,  you  should  not  have  said 
that  I  had  but  one  shirt,  and  that  I  lay  a-bed  while  it  was  washed  !" 
"  Sammy,"  replied  Quin,  "  I  never  coidd  have  said  so,  for  I  never 
knew  that  you  had  a  shirt  to  wash  !" 

In  the  roughest  of  Quin's  jests  there  was  no  liarm  meant,  and 
many  of  his  jokes  manifested  the  kindliness  of  his  heart.  Here  is 
an  obscure  actor,  Dick  Winston,  lying — hungry,  weary,  and  disen- 
gaged— on  a  truckle  bed,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Covent  Garden. 
He  had  wilfully  forfeited  an  old  engagement,  turned  itinerant, 
starved,  and  had  returned,  only  to  find  his  old  place  occupied. 
He  is  on  his  back,  in  utter  despair,  as  Mr.  Quin  enters,  followed 
by  a  man  carrying  a  decent  suit  of  clothes ;  and  the  great  actor 
hails  him  with  a  "  Now,  Dick,  how  is  it  you  are  not  up  and  at 
rehearsal?"  Quin  had  heard  of  his  distress,  got  him  restored  lo 
his  employment,  and  took  this  way  of  announcing  it.  Winston 
dressed  himself  in  a  state  of  bewilderment;  a  new  dress  and  anew 
engagement — but  no  cash  wherewith  to  obtain  a  breakfast !  "  Mr. 
Quin,"  said  he,  unhesitatingly,  "  what  shall  I  do  for  a  little  ready 
money,  till  Saturday  arrives  ?"  "  Nay  !"  replied  Quin ;  "  I  have 
done  all  I  can  for  you  ;  but  as  for  money,  Dick,  you  must  put  your 
hand  in  your  own  pocket."     Quin  had  put  a  £10  note  there  ! 

Again ;  when  Ryan  asked,  in  an  emergency,  for  a  loan,  the 
answer  from  Quin  was,  that  he  had  nothing  to  lend ;  but  he  had 
left  Ryan  £1,000  in  his  will,  and  Ryan  might  have  that,  if  he  were 
inclined  to  cheat  the  government  of  the  legacy  duty ! 

Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  was  not  half  such  a  practically 
good  patron  to  Thomson,  as  James  Quin  was.  AVhen  the  bard 
was  in  distress,  Quin  gave  liiin  a  supper  at  a  tavern,  for  half  of 
wliich  the  poet  expected  he  would  have  to  pay ;  but  the  player 
designed  otherwise.  "  Mr.  Thomson,"  said  he,  "  I  estimate  the 
pleasure  I  have  had  in  perusing  your  works  at  £100  at  least;  and 


EXIT,   JAMES   QUIN.  401 

vou  must  allow  me  to  settle  that  account,  by  presenting  you  with 
the  money."  What  are  the  sinall  or  the  great  faults  of  this  actor 
of  "all  the  FalstafFs,"  when  we  find  his  virtues  so  practical  and 
lively  ?  In  return,  the  minsti'el  has  repaid  the  good  deed  with  a 
guerdon  of  song.     In  the  Castle  of  Indolence,  he  says : 

Here  whilom  ligg'd  th'  ^sopus  of  the  age  ; 
But,  call'd  by  Fame,  iu  soul  ypricked  deep, 
A  noble  pride  restored  him  to  the  stage, 
And  roused  him  like  a  giant  from  his  sleep. 
Even  from  his  slumbers  we  advantage  reap: 
With  double  force  th'  enlivened  scene  he  wakes, 
Yet  quits  not  Nature's  bounds.     He  knows  to  keep 
Each  due  decorum:  now  the  heart  he  shakes, 
And  now  with  well-urged  sense  th'  enlightened  judgment  takes." 

The  actor  had  a  great  regard  for  the  poet,  and  was  not  onlv 
active  in  bringing  forward  his  posthumous  tragedy,  "  Coriolanus," 
in  which  Quin  played  the  principal  character,  in  1749,  but  spoke 
the  Hon.  George  Lyttleton's  celebrated  prologue  with  such  feeling, 
that  he  could  not  restrain  his  tears ;  and  with  such  efiect,  that  the 
audience  were  moved,  it  is  said,  in  like  manner ; — 

"  He  loved  his  friends  ; — forgive  this  gushing  tear ; 
Alas  1  I  feel  I  am  no  actor  here ;" 

and  Quin's  eyes  glistened,  as  he  went  through  the  noble  eulogy 
of  a  poet,  whose 

"  Muse  employ'd  her  heaven-taught  lyre, 
None  but  the  noblest  passions  to  inspire ; 
Not  one  immoral,  one  corrupted  thought, 
One  line,  which,  dying,  he  could  wish  to  blot." 

The  last  night  Quin  played  as  an  engaged  actor,  was  at  Covenl 
Garden,  on  the  15th  of  May,  1751  ;  the  play  was  the  "Fair  Peni- 
tent," in  which  lie  acted  Horatio  to  the  Lothario  of  Barry,  and 
the  Calista  of  Mrs.  Gibber.  After  this  he  quietly  withdrew,  without 
leave-taking,  returning  only  once  or  twice  to  play  for  the  benefit  of 
a  friend.  In  his  later  years,  his  professional  income  is  said  to  have 
reached  £1,000  a  year.  He  was  the  first  English  actor  who 
received  £50  a  night,  during  a  part  of  his  career.     The  characters 


402  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

he  created  were  in  pieces  wliicli  have  died  off  the  stage,  save 
Oomus,  which  he  acted  with  effective  dignity  in  the  season  of 
1737-8; — a  part,  in  which  Mr.  Macrcady  distinguished  himself, 
during  his  memorable  management  of  Drury  Lane. 

Quin's  social  position,  after  leaving  the  stage,  was  one  congenial 
to  a  map  of  his  merits,  taste,  and  acquirements.  He  was  a  welcome 
guest  at  many  noble  hearths — from  that  of  ducal  Chatsworth  to 
that  of  modest  Allen's,  at  Prior  Park.  At  the  former,  he  and 
Garrick  met.  There  had  not  been  a  cordial  intimacy  between  the 
two,  as  actors ;  but  as  private  gentlemen,  they  became  friends. 
This  better  state  of  things  was  owing  to  the  kindly  feeling  of  Quin. 
The  two  men  were  left  alone  in  a  room  at  Chatsworth,  and  Quin 
made  the  first  step  toward  a  reconciliation,  by  asking  a  question, 
the  most  agreeable  he  could  put, — inquiring  after  Mrs.  Garrick's 
health.  In  this  scene,  the  two  men  come  before  me  as  distinct  as 
a  couple  of  figures  drawn  by  Meissonier — quaint  in  costume,  full 
of  character  and  life,  pleasant  to  look  at  and  to  remember. 

Quin  was  Garrick's  guest  at  Hampton,  when  he  was  stricken,  in 
1765,  with  the  illness  which  ultimately  proved  ftUid.  He  died, 
however,  in  his  own  house  at  Bath.  "  I  could  wish,"  he  said,  the 
day  before,  "  that  the  last  tragic  scene  were  over ;  and  I  hope  I 
may  be  enabled  to  meet  and  pass  through  it  with  dignity."  He 
passed  through  it  becomingly  on  the  21st  of  January,  1766  ;  and 
Garrick  placed  the  following  lines  on  the  old  actor's  tomb,  in  the 
Abbey — a  pyramid  of  Sienna  marble,  bearing  a  medallion  portrait 
of  Quin,  resting  on  a  sarcophagus,  on  which  the  inscription  is  en- 
graved, supported  by  the  mask  of  Thalia,  and  the  dagger  of 
Melpomene. 

"  That  tongue  which  set  the  table  in  a  roar, 
And  charmed  the  pubhc  ear,  is  heard  no  more; 
Closed  are  those  eyes,  the  harbingers  of  wit, 
Which  spake,  before  this  tongue,  what  Shakspoare  writ. 
Cold  was  that  hand  whicli,  living,  was  stretched  forth 
*      At  friendship's  call,  to  succor  modest  worth. 

Here  hes  James  Quin.     Deign,  reader,  to  be  taught, 
Whate'er  thy  strength  of  body,  force  of  thought, 
In  Nature's  happy  mould  however  cast, 
'To  this  complexion  thou  miLst  corao  at  last.'  " 


EXIT,   JAMES   QUIN.  403 

Kind-hearted  people  have  remarked  that  Garrick  never  said  so 
much  to,  or  of,  Quin  when  he  was  aUve.  Perhaps  not.  He  strug- 
gled with  Quin  for  niasterj^ — vanquished  him  ;  became  his  friend, 
and  hung  up  over  his  grave  a  glowing  testimony  to  his  talent  and 
his  virtues.  This  was  in  the  spirit  of  old  chivalry.  What  would 
kind-hearted  people  have  ?  Was  it  not  well  in  Garrick  to  speak 
truthfully  of  one  dead  whom,  when  living,  he  thus  with  pleasant 
satire  described,  as  soliloquizing  at  the  tomb  of  Duke  Humphrey 
at  St.  Albans : — 

"  A  plague  on  Egypt's  art,  I  say  I 
Embalm  the  dead!     On  senseless  clay 
Rich  wines  and  spices  waste  1 
Like  sturgeon,  or  like  brawn,  shall  I 
Bound  in  a  precious  pickle  lie, 

Which  I  can  never  taste  ? 
Let  me  embalm  this  flesh  of  mine 
With  turtle  fat,  and  Bordeaux  wine, 
And  spoil  th'  Egyptian  trade  I 
Than  Humphry's  Duke  more  happy  I, 
Embalm'd  alive,  old  Quin  shall  die 

A  mummy  ready  made." 

As  a  tail-piece  to  this  sketch,  I  cannot,  I  think,  do  better  than 
subjoin  Foote's  portrait  of  Quin,  which,  I  will  hope,  was  not  drawn 
to  disparage  any  of  Quin's  great  survivors,  but  in  all  honesty  and 
sincerity.  "  Mr.  Quin's  deportment  through  the  whole  cast  of  his 
characters  is  natural  and  unaffected,  his  countenance  expressive 
without  the  assistance  of  grimace,  and  he  is,  indeed,  in  every  cir- 
cumstance, so  much  the  person  he  represents,  that  it  is  scarcely 
possible  for  any  attentive  spectator  to  believe  that  the  hypocritical, 
intriguing  Maskwell,  the  suspicious  superannuated  rake,  the  snarl- 
ing old  bachelor,  and  the  jolly,  jocose  Jack  Falstati"  arc  imitated, 
not  real  persons. 

"  And  here  I  wish  I  had  room  and  ability  to  point  out  the 
severe  masterly  strokes  with  which  Mr.  Quin  has  often  entertained 
my  imagination,  and  satisfied  my  judgment,  but,  under  my  present 
cor  finement,  I  can  only  recommend  the  man  who  wants  to  see  a 
character  perfectly  played,  to  sec  Mr.  Quin  in  the  part  of  Falstaff; 
end  if  he  does  not  express  a  desire  of  spending  an  evening  with 


40*  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

that  merry  mortal,  wliy,  I   would   not  spend  one  with  him,  if  he 
would  pay  my  reckoning." 

"  With  a  bottle  of  claret  and  a  full  house,"  it  may  well  he 
concluded,  from  all  concurrent  testimony,  Quin  was,  in  fat  Jack, 
unapproachable.  In  the  traditions  of  the  stage,  he  still  remains 
the  Falstaft",  though  Henderson  was  subsequently  thought  to  have 
('i]ualled  him  in  many  of  the  points  of  that  character. 

Finally,  Quin's  will  is  not  uninstructive  as  an  illustration  of  the 
actor's  character.  There  is,  perhaps,  not  a  friend  he  had  possessed, 
or  servant  who  had  been  faithful  to  him,  who  is  forgotten  in  it. 
Various  are  the  bequests,  from  £50  to  a  cousin  practising  medicine 
in  Dublin,  to  £500  and  a  share  of  the  residue  to  a  kind-hearted 
oilman  in  the  Strand.  To  one  individual  he  bequeaths  his  watch, 
in  accordance  with  an  "  imprudent  promise"  to  that  effect.  James 
Quin  did  not  like  the  man,  but  he  would  not  break  his  word 
Requiescat  in  pace  ! 


ENGLAND  AND   SCOTLAND.  405 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


ENGLAND    AND    SCOTLAND. 


In  1753-4  Mrs.  Gibber  returned  to  Drury;  she  played  Juliet 
to  Garrick's  Romeo,  and  with  him  in  every  piece  that  admitted  of 
their  playing  together.  But  Barry  gained  in  Miss  Nossiter  a 
Juliet,  not,  indeed,  equal  to  Mrs.  Gibber,  but  one  who  increased 
his  own  ardor  and  earnestness  in  Romeo,  his  tenderness  and  anxi- 
et)"^  in  Jaffier,  and  his  truth  and  playfulness  as  Florizel,  inas- 
much as  that  they  were  mutually  in  love,  and  all  the  house  was  in 
the  secret. 

Miss  Nossiter,  however,  did  not  realize  her  early  promise. 
Contemporary  critics  speak  of  the  novice  as  being  of  a  delicate 
figure,  graceful  in  the  expression  of  distress,  but  requiring  careful- 
ness in  the  management  of  her  voice,  and  a  more  simple  elocu- 
tion. One  of  her  judges  curiously  remarks : — "  She  frequently 
alarmed  the  audience  with  the  most  striking  attitudes."  The 
critic  recovers  from  his  alarm  when  speaking  of  another  debutante 
(Mrs.  Elmey),  who  acted  Desdemona  to  Barry's  Othello.  "  No 
part,"  he  says,  "  has  been  better  represented  in  our  memory,"  and 
"  we  scarce  know  what  it  was  before  she  acted  it." 

Of  poor  Miss  Nossiter  there  is  little  more  recorded,  than  that, 
at  the  end  of  a  brief  career,  she  died,  after  bequeathing  to  Barry, 
the  Romeo,  for  whom  more  than  Miss  Nossiter  professed  to  be 
'lying,— £3,000. 

Mossop  succeeded  Quin,  at  Drury  Lane,  with  credit.  Foote 
left  "  entertaining"  at  the  Haymarket  to  play  the  Gibber  parts  in 
comedy,  and  he  was  ably  seconded  by  Woodward,  Mrs.  Pritchard, 
and  Kitty  Olive.  Miss  Bellamy  and  Shuter  passed  to  the  Garden, 
the  latter  increasing  in  favor  each  night,  as  opportunity  afforded. 
With  the  exception  of  minor  pieces,  and  a  revival  of  "  King  John," 
in  which  Garrick  was  an  unlikely  Falconbridgo,  and  Mossop  a 
superb  tyrant,  the  audiences  were  taken  back  to  heavy  classical 


4-06  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

tragedies.  Drury  played  Glover's  "  Boadicea,"  a  criticism  of  wlii«.h 
is  amusingly  given  by  Walpole.  "  There  is  a  new  play  of  Glover's 
in  which  Boadicea  (Pritchard)  rants  as  much  as  Visconti  screams ; 
but,  happily,  you  hear  no  more  of  her  after  the  third  act,  till,  in 
the  last  scene,  somebody  brings  a  card  with  her  compliments,  and 
she  is  very  sorry  she  cannot  wait  upon  you,  but  she  is  dead. 
Then  there  is  a  scene  between  Lord  Sussex  and  Lord  Cathcart, 
two  captains"  (JEnobarbus  and  Flaminius — Mossop  and  Ilavard), 
"  which  is  most  incredibly  absurd ;  but  yet  the  parts  are  so  well 
acted,  the  dresses  so  fine,  and  two  or  three  scenes  pleasing  enough, 
that  it  is  worth  seeing."  Archbishop  Herring  thought  the  two 
last  acts  admirable.  "  In  the  fifth  particularly,  I  hardly  ever  felt 
myself  so  strongly  touched." 

Of  a  second  tragedy.  Crisp's  "  Virginia,"  Walpole  says  it  flour- 
ished through  Garrick's  acting.  Murphy  states  that  the  manner 
in  which  Garrick  uttered  two  words,  crowned  the  play  with  suc- 
cess ;  when  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  that  spoke  the  fulness  of  a 
broken  heart,  he  pronounced,  "  Thou  traitor !"  the  whole  audience 
was  electrified,  and  testified  their  delight  by  a  thunder  of  applause. 
It  was,  however,  a  poor  play,  even  for  a  custom-house  officer,  who, 
by  the  way,  made  Appius  (Mossop)  propose  to  marry  Virginia. 
Marcia  was  played  by  a  Mrs.  Graham;  Garrick  did  not  think 
much  of  her ;  but  we  shall  hear  of  her  again  as  the  great  Mrs. 
Yates. 

The  third  classical  tragedy  was  Whitehead's  "  Creusa,"  founded 
on  the  Ion  of  Euripides.  Walpole  praises  the  interest,  complexity, 
yet  clearness  and  natural  feeling  of  the  plot.  "  It  is  the  only  new 
tragedy  that  I  ever  saw  and  really  liked.  The  circumstance  of 
so  much  distress  being  brought  on  by  characters,  every  one  good, 
yet  acting  consistently  with  their  principles  toward  the  misfortunes 
of  the  drama,  is  quite  new  and  pleasing."  As  a  reading  play, 
I  think  "  Creusa"  is  the  greatest  success  Whitehead  has  achioved. 

On  the  other  hand,  M'Namara  Morgan's  romantic  tragedy, 
"  Philoclea,"  owed  most  of  its  ephemeral  success  to  the  fire,  grace, 
beauty,  and  expression  of  Barry  and  Miss  Nossiter  (Pyrocles  and 
Philoclea),  the  two  lovers.  The  house  literally  "  sighed  like  fur- 
nace" for  very  sympathy.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Genest  says  truly,  "  that 
the  play  is  a  poor  play,  but  that  the  epilogue  is  not  bad ;" — it  is  a 


ENGLAND    4ND   SCOTLAND.  407 

mass  of  unclcanncss,  wortliy  of  the  Ravenscroft  whom  Gencst 
admired.  As  for  Dr.  Francis's  "  ConstantiT-ic,"  in  which  Barry 
and  Mrs.  Bellamy  played  Constantine  and  Fulvia,  it  was  a  failure ; 
but,  therefore,  Mrs.  Bellamy  recommended  the  author  to  the 
patronage  of  Fox ;  and  it  is  certain  that  the  father  of  Sir  Philip 
Francis  owed  his  promotion  to  the  Suffolk  rectory  of  Barrow,  to 
Lord  Holland.  There  is  something  amusing  in  the  idea  of  George 
Anne  Bellamy  indirectly  nominating  to  Church  benefices ! 

In  the  season  of  1754-5,  Garrick  was  relieved  by  the  absence 
of  BaiTy,  who  left  Rich  for  Dublin,  taking  Miss  Nossiter  with  him, 
at  a  salary  of  £1,300  for  both  for  the  season,  and  predicting  ruin 
to  Rich.  The  latter  falsified  the  prediction,  by  biinging  out 
Sheridan  in  all  his  best  parts  against  Garrick,  and  in  "  Coriolanus," 
against  Mossop,  Sheridan  and  Dyer  also  played  Romeo,  greatly 
to  the  benefit  of  Barry ;  but  Rich  got  well  through  his  season 
■with  the  above,  and  in  spite  of  a  tragedy,  called  "  Appius,"  the 
ill  success  of  which  was  reasonably  attributed  by  the  author,  Mon- 
crieffj  to  the  fact  that  Sheridan  had  lopped  oft"  the  fifth  act ;  pan- 
tomime supplied  its  place. 

Garrick,  in  addition  to  his  old  parts,  ci-eated  Achmet  m  "  Bar- 
barossa ;"  Mossop  playing  the  tyrant,  and  Mrs.  Gibber  Zaphira, 
Ilis  other  novelties  were  the  "  Fairies,"  and  the  masque  of  "  Bri- 
tannia;" the  latter  apropos  to  the  war.  I  do  not  know  if  Dr. 
Browne,  the  ^'icar  of  Great  Horkesley,  could  have  civilized  the  yet 
uncivilized  dominion  of  Russia,  as  Catharine  invited  him  to  do  ; 
but  he  assuredly  wrote  a  poor  yet  lucky  tragedy,  for  it  has  lived 
while  better  have  sunk  into  oblivion.  It  is  "  Merope"  recast  and 
dressed.  "  There  is  not  one  new  thought  in  it,"  "wrote  Walpole  ; 
"  and,  which  is  the  next  material  want,  but  one  line  of  perfect 
nonsense.  '  And  rain  down  transports  in  the  shape  of  sorrow !' 
To  complete  it,  the  manners  are  so  ill-observed,  that  a  Mahometan 
princess-royal  is  at  full  liberty  to  visit  her  lover  in  Newgate,  like 
the  banker's  daughter  in  '  George  Barnwell.'  " 

Walpole's  criticism  on  the  "  Fairies"  is  not  less  smart.  "  Gar- 
rick has  produced  a  detest-able  English  opera,  which  is  crowded 
by  all  true  lovers  of  their  country.  To  mark  the  opposite  to  Ital- 
ian opera,  it  is  sung  by  some  cast  singers,  two  Italians,  a  French 
girl,  and  the  chapel-boys ;  and  to  regale  us  with  sauce,  it  is  Shak- 


4:08  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

spcare's  '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream ;'  which,"  he  adds,  as  if  he 
inherited  the  feelings  of  Pepys  with  regard  to  this  poetical  play, 
"  is  forty  times  more  nonsensical  than  the  worst  translation  of  any 
Italian  opera  books." 

At  the  short  summer  season  in  the  Haymarket,  where  Theophi- 
lus  Gibber  and  his  eccentric  sister,  Mrs.  Chai'ke,  were  at  the  head 
of  "  Bayes's"  new-raised  company  of  comedians,  there  appeared 
on  the  21st  of  August,  1755,  Miss  Barton,  in  Miranda,  to  Gibber's 
Marplot.  Besides  this,  and  other  comic  characters,  Miss  Barton 
acted  Desdemona.  Not  many  years  before  this  she  was  a  shoeless 
flower-girl,  purer  looking  than  any  of  her  own  roses,  in  St.  James's 
Park.  We  shall  hear  of  her  anon,  under  a  name  than  which  there 
is  not  a  brighter  in  theatrical  annals — the  name  of  Abington. 

The  season  of  1755-6  was  remarkable  for  the  fact  that  Garrick 
made  three  very   absurd  assaults   on   Shakspeare,   by   producing 
emendations  of  the  "  Winter's  Tale,"  "  Taming  of  the  Shrew,"  and  - 
the  "Tempest,"  cutting,  clipping,  adding,  taking  away,  and  saying 
the  while  : — 

"  'Tis  my  chief  wish,  my  joy,  my  only  plan, 
To  lose  no  drop  of  that  immortal  man  I" 

This  season  was  also  remarkable  for  the  riot  consequent  on  his 
producing  the  "  Chinese  Festival,"  when  the  public,  hating  the 
French,  with  whom  we  were  at  war,  insisted  on  his  asking  pardon 
for  the  introduction  of  Swiss,  Germans,  and  Italians !  Garrick 
proudly  answered,  that  if  they  would  not  allow  him  to  go  on  with 
his  part  (Archer),  he  would  never,  never,  again  set  foot  on  the 
stage !  It  was,  further,  famous  for  the  failure  of  "  Athelstan," 
by  Dr.  Browne,  which  fell,  though  it  was  a  better  tragedy  than 
"  Barbarossa."  The  disappointed  author,  it  will  be  remembered, 
destroyed  himself  Still  more  famous  was  this  season,  for  the 
fray  between  the  Rival  Queens,  Woffington — Koxana,  and  Bellamy 
—Statira;  when  the  superb  dresses  of  the  latter  drove  poor  Peg 
mto  such  fury,  that  she  nearly  stabbed  her  rival  in  downright 
earnest.  Failing  in  her  attempt,  she  stabbed  her  with  words,  and 
t:iunted  Bellamy  with  having  a  minister  (Henry  Fox)  who  indulged 
In  r  in  such  extravagances.     "  And  you,"  retorted  the  other  "gen- 


ENGLAND    AND   SCOTLAND.  409 

tie  creature,"  "  have  half  the  town  who  do  not !"  But  not  for 
these  things,  nor  for  Foote's  satirical  farces  against  Murphy,  nor 
for  Murphy's  against  Foote,  was  the  season  so  famous,  as  it  was 
for  being  that  in  which  Barry,  now  returned  to  Covent  Garden, 
entered  the  lists  once  more  against  Garrick,  after  playing  a  round 
of  his  most  successful  characters,  by  acting  King  Lear,  with  Miss 
Nossiter  as  Cordelia,  which  part  Mrs.  Gibber  played  to  Garrick's 
King. 

In  this  contest,  Garrick  carried  away  the  palm.  Barry  was  dig- 
nified, impressive,  pathetic,  but  unequal,  failing  principally  in  the 
mad  scenes,  which  appear  to  have  been  over-acted.  It  was  pre- 
cisely there  where  Garrick  was  most  sublime,  natural,  and  afl'ect- 
ing.  There  was  no  rant,  no  violence,  no  grimacing.  The  feeble, 
miserable,  but  still  royal  old  man  was  there  ;  slow  of  motion,  vague 
of  look,  uncertain,  forgetful  of  all  things  save  of  the  cruelty  of  his 
daughters.  It  was  said  for  Barry  that  he  was  "  every  inch  a  king ;" 
for  Garrick,  that  he  was  "  every  inch  King  Lear."  The  wits 
who  admired  the  latter,  repeated  the  epigram  : — 

"  The  town  has  found  out  diflTrent  ways, 
To  praiso  the  difl'Vent  Loars ; 
To  Barry  they  give  loud  huzzas  I 
To  Garrick — only  tears." 

Others  quoted  the  lines  alluding  to  Garrick's  jealousy  : — 

"  Critics  attend  1  and  judge  the  rival  Lears ; 
While  each  commands  applause,  and  each  your  tears. 
Then  own  this  truth — well  he  performs  his  part 
Who  touches — ev'n  Garrick  to  the  heart." 

Drury  Lane,  in  1756-7,  offers  little  for  remark.  Miss  Pritchard 
appeared  in  Juliet, — only  to  show  that  talent  is  not  hereditary  ; 
and  Ganick  ventured  King  Lear  with  a  little  less  of  Tate,  and  a 
little  more  of  Shakspeare ;  he  was  as  resolute,  however,  against 
introducing  the  Fool,  as  he  was  with  respect  to  the  Gravediggers, 
in  Hamlet.  On  the  other  hand,  he  acted  Don  Felix.  Gracefully 
as  Garrick  played  the  part,  Walpole  said  "  he  was  a  monkey  to 
Lord  Henry  Fitzgerald"  (who  played  this  character  admirably  in 
private).  The  Violaatc  of  Miss  Macklin  was  acted  with  astonish- 
VoL.  I.--18 


410  DORAX'S   ANNALS   OF   THE   STAGE. 

irig  effect.  Wbeu  Garrick  was  weary,  his  parts  were  "  doubled" 
by  handsome  IloUand,  the  son  of  the  Chiswick  baker,  and  des- 
tined to  carry  grief  to  the  honest  Iieart  of  Miss  Pope.  The 
dramatic  })oets  raised  no  new  echoes  in  Drury  this  season, — some 
farces  excepted.  One  of  tliese  was  the  "  Reprisal,"  by  Smollett, 
who  showed  that  if  he  could  not  write  a  good  tragedy  at  nine-and- 
twenty,  he  could  dash  off  a  lively  farce  at  seven-and-thirty.  With 
this  farce,  the  ablest  of  novelists  and  harshest  of  critics  closed  his 
theatrical  career.  The  second  farce  was  Foote's  "  Author,"  in 
which  he  and  Mrs.  Olive  acted  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cadwallader,  and  the 
former  exultingly  held  up  to  ridicule  one  of  his  most  intimate 
friends,  Mr.  Apreece,  taking  care  to  have  him  among  the  audience 
on  the  tirst  night ! 

At  the  other  house,  Barry  failed  in  Richard  III.;  but  the  treasury 
recovered  itself  by  the  production,  in  March,  of  "  Douglas,"  in 
which  liarry,  six  feet  high,  and  in  a  suit  of  white  puckered  satin, 
played  Norval  to  the  Lady  Randolph  of  Mrs.  Wotiington.  The 
originals  of  those  parts,  when  the  piece  was  lirst  played  in  Edin- 
burgh, in  the  previous  December,  were  Digges  and  Mrs.  Ward. 
This  piece  was  the  glory  of  the  Scottish  stage,  and  a  scandal  to 
great  part  of  the  community.  Before  the  curtain  rises,  let  me  say 
a  few  words  on  bhe  growth  of  that  stage. 

There  have  been  stringent  rules  in  Scotland  with  regard  to  the 
theatre,  but  they  have  been  accompanied  by  much  general  tolera- 
tion. The  Regent,  Murray,  cheerfully  witnessed  the  performance 
of  a  drama  ;  and  the  General  Assembly,  in  1574,  though  they  pro- 
hibited all  dramas  founded  on  Scripture,  permitted  the  represen- 
tation of  "  profane  plays."  The  licensers  were  the  Kirk  Session, 
before  which  body  the  piece  was  lirst  read ;  and  if  license  was 
accorded  for  its  being  acted,  stipulation  was  made  that  nothing 
should  be  added  to  the  text  which  had  been  read,  and  that  "  nao 
swearing,  banning,  nor  nae  scurrility  shall  be  spoken,  whilk  would 
be  a  scandal  to  our  religion,  and  for  an  evil  example  to  others." 

When,  however,  James  VI.  manifested  a  wish  to  see  the 
English  company  which  arrived  in  Edinburgh  in  1599,  by  grant- 
ing it  a  license  to  act,  the  General  Kirk  Session  of  the  city 
denounced  all  players  and  their  patrons, — the  former  as  unruly  and 
immodest,  the  latter  as  irreligious  aud  indiscreet.     This  opposition 


ENGLAND   AND   SCOTLAND.  411 

led  to  a  conference  between  the  Session  and  the  angry  King,  at 
whiclj  the  former  were  obliged  to  withdraw  their  denunciations, 
which  liad  been  made  from  all  the  pulpits;  and  they  authorized 
all  men  "  to  repair  to  the  said  comedies  and  plays  without  any 
pain,  reproach,  censure,  or  slander,  to  be  incurred  by  them." 
Individual  ministers  were  sorely  discontent  with  such  proceedings 
of  the  Session  ;  and  this  feeling  increased,  when  a  play,  "  Marciano, 
or  the  Discovery,"  was  acted  in  1662,  "with  great  applause, 
before  His  Majesty's  High  Commissioner,  and  others  of  the 
nobility,  at  the  Abbey  of  Ilolyrood  House,  on  St.  John's  night." 
In  the  preface  of  this  very  play,  the  drama  in  Scotland  was  likened 
to  a  "  drunken  swaggerer  in  a  country  chui'ch  !" 

It  does  not  appear  that  any  regular  theatre  existed  in  Edinburgh 
previous  to  1679,  when  the  brothers  Fountain  held  from  Charles 
II.  the  patent  of  "  Masters  of  the  Revels,  within  the  kingdom  of 
Scotland."  The  Fountains  not  only  erected  a  playhouse,  but  they 
subsequently  sought  to  suppress  all  balls  and  entertainments  held 
in  the  dancing-masters'  schools,  as  discouraging  to  the  playhouse, 
which  "  the  petitioners  had  been  at  great  charge  in  erecting." 
Accordingly,  such  balls,  unless  duly  licensed,  wei-e  suppressed.  As 
Mr.  Robert  Chambers  remarks  in  his  Domestic  Annals  of  Scotland, 
"  it  sounds  sti'ange  to  hear  of  a  dancing-master's  ball  in  our  city, 
little  more  than  a  month  after  the  battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge,  and 
while  a  thousand  poor  men  were  lodging  on  the  cold  ground  in 
the  Greyfriars'  Churchyard  I" 

There  was  no  regular  theatrical  season, — players  came  and  went 
according  to  the  chances  of  profit  atforded  by  the  presence  of 
great  personages  in  the  capital.  In  1681,  the  Duke  and  Duchess 
of  York  were  sojourning  there ;  and  just  at  that  time,  thirty 
joyous-looking  folk  were  being  detained  by  the  Customs'  authori- 
ties at  Irvine,  in  Ayrshire,  where  they  had  landed,  and  where  they 
wrre  in  difficulty,  on  questions  of  duties  on  the  gold  and  silver 
jji  c  of  their  wardrobe.  Laced  clothes  were  then  highly  taxed  ;  but 
said  the  gay  fellows,  who,  in  truth,  Avere  actors,  with  actresses 
from  the  theatre  in  Orange  Street,  Dublin,  "these  clothes,  mount- 
ed with  gold  and  silver  lace,  are  not  for  our  wear,  but  are  neces- 
sary in  our  vocation,  and  arc,  therefore,  exempt."  They  had  to 
petition  the  Pri.y  Council,  which  body,  submitting  to  the  plea  of 


412  dokan's  annals  of  the  stage. 

the  actors,  that  "  trumpeters  and  stage-players"  were  exempted 
fropi  the  Act,  sent  a  certificate  to  the  tax-collector  at  Irvine,  to  let 
them  pass  free,  and  come  up  and  act  "  Agrippa,  King  of  Alba,  or 
the  False  Tiberinus,"  and  other  dramas,  before  all  lieges  in  Edin- 
burgh, v-ho  were  inclined  to  listen  to  them. 

This  incident  reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  of  Talma,  which  was 
communicated  to  me  by  a  French  actor.  Talma  was  stopped, 
like  the  Irish  players  at  Irvine,  at  the  Custom-house  on  the  Bel- 
gian frontier,  as  he  was  on  his  way  to  fulfil  an  engagement  at 
Brussels.  His  theatrical  costumes  were  undergoing  examination, 
when  an  official  irreverently  spoke  of  them  as  "  Habits  de  Po- 
Uchinelle."  The  tragic  actor  was  offended.  "  Habits  de  Po- 
Uchlnelle .'"  said  he,  "  they  are  of  the  utmost  value.  That  lace  is 
worth  fifty  francs  a  yard,  and  I  wear  it  constantly  in  private." 
"And  must  therefore  pay  for  it,"  said  the  sharp  Belgian  oflScial; 
"  Punch's  clothes  might  pass  untaxed,  but  Mr.  Talma's  laced 
coats  owe  a  duty  to  the  King,"  which  he  was  forced  to  acquit. 

With  the  fall  of  the  Stuarts  and  the  establishment  of  Presby- 
tery, a  sour  feeling  against  the  stage  prevailed  in  Scotland.  Mr. 
R.  Chambers  attributes  a  later  improved  feeling  to  the  Southern 
gentlemen  who  were  sent  northward  to  hold  office,  and  who  took 
with  them  tastes  which  were  gradually  adopted  ;  at  first  by  Epis- 
copalians, and  later  by  Presbyterians  themselves. 

There  is  a  smith's  shop  near  Holyrood,  which,  in  1715,  was 
part  of  a  Tennis  Court,  which,  in  that  year,  and  just  before  the 
outbreak,  was  converted  into  a  theatre.  It  was  well  attended, 
and  furiously  denounced ;  even  solemn  kirk  folk  flocked  to  listen 
to  the  old  and  modern  playwrights,  despite  the  threats  of  their 
ministers  that,  from  all  such,  they  would  withhold  the  "  tokens  to 
the  Sacrament  of  the  Supper."  The  presbytery  of  Edinburgh 
fulminated  every  species  of  menace  against  the  new  stage  and  its 
upholders,  but  the  latter  had  a  fatally  amusing  comment  to  make 
on  such  fulminations.  Only  the  year  previously,  three  of  these 
very  ministers,  Mitchell,  Kanisey  and  Hart,  sent  as  a  deputation 
to  congratulate  George  I.  on  his  accession,  rested  on  their  way  at 
Kendal,  where  there  was  a  little  theatre,  whither  these  good  men 
repaired  to  see  Congreve's  "  Love  for  Love"  acted,  and  thought 
nobody  would  tell  of  their  backsliding  ! 


ENGLAND    AND   SCOTLAND.  413 

The  Scottish  Tennis  Court  theatre  did  not  prosper  even  so  well 
as  that  in  Lincohi's  Inn  Fields.  Eleven  years  after  the  above 
date,  although  we  hear  of  a  performance  of  Otway's  "  Orphan," 
with  a  prologue  by  Allan  Ramsay,  it  is  in  "private;"  but  adverse 
critics  are  informed,  that  they  will  have  to  support  their  opinions, 
by  the  duello,  in  the  King's  Park. 

In  the  same  year,  1726,  Anthony  Aston,  that  erratic  actor, 
"  after  a  circuit  round  the  Queen  of  Isles,"  as  another  prologue 
by  Mr.  Allan  Ramsay  said  of  him,  reappeared  in  Edinburgh  with 
a  theatrical  company. 

"  The  dastards  said,  '  He  never  will  succeed ; 
What  1  such  a  country  look  for  any  good  in, 
That  does  not  relish  plays,  nor  pork,  nor  pudding!" 

Aston  had  to  contend  against  the  utmost  efforts  of  the  clergy 
and  magistracy.  Nevertheless,  ruling  elders,  who  were  peers  of 
the  realm,  Lords  of  Session  and  other  amateurs,  went  and  wept  at 
graceful  Westcombe  and  handsome  Mrs.  Millar,  in  the  "  Mourning 
Bride,"  and  a  son  of  Bishop  Ross,  and  master  of  the  Beaux'  Cof- 
fee-House,  charged  a  commission  of  a  penny  on  every  playhouse 
ticket  sold  in  his  establishment.  Then,  even  Lord  Grange,  the 
most  profligate  ruffian  in  all  Scotland,  was  alarmed  for  Scottish 
morals,  when  he  heard  that  Allan  Ramsay  had  founded  a  circula- 
ting library,  and  was  lending  out  English  play-books.  The  magis- 
trates, moved  by  that  arch-villain.  Grange, — than  whom  there  was 
not  a  man  so  given  to  drink,  devilry,  and  devotion, — sent  inspec- 
tors to  learn  from  Ramsay's  books  the  names  of  his  subscribers. 
Allan  had  timely  warning ;  and  he  destroyed  his  list  before  the 
obnoxious  jurors  presented  themselves.  The  pulpits  re-echoed 
with  denunciations  against  acting  and  episcopacy,  and  men  who 
were  carried  to  the  theatres  in  sedans, — oh !  what  had  come  to 
Scottish  thews  and  sinews,  when  such  a  spectacle  as  this  was  to 
be  seen  in  old  Edinburgh  ! 

In  1733  and  1734,  Shakspeare  was  in  the  ascendant  at  the 
theatre  at  the  Tailors'  Hall,  in  the  Cowgate,  varied  by  the  works 
of  Gay,  Congreve,  and  Mrs.  Centlivre ;  pantomime,  ballet,  and 
farce  •,  with  excellent  scenery  and  machinery, — the  troop  occasion- 
ally visiting  Dundee,  Montrose,  and  Aberdeen.     Dramatic  taste 


414  doran's  annals  of  the  stage. 

spread  to  schools,  where  the  pupils  began  to  act  plays.  While 
this  was  contined  to  "Gate,"  "Julius  C;esar,"  and  the  like,  there 
was  no  harm  done ;  but  when  the  Perth  school-boys,  at  Candle- 
mas, 1735,  took  to  acting  "George  Barnwell,"  the  Kirk  session 
once  more  bestirred  itself,  and  shut  up  the  house  built  by  Allan 
Ramsay,  in  Carubber's  Close.  Subsequently,  Ryan,  the  actor, 
laid  the  fii'st  stone  of  a  new  theatre  in  the  Canongate,  which  was 
opened  in  1746,  but  without  sanction  of  law,  which,  however,  was 
not  so  rigorous  as  in  earlier  days,  when  Lord  Somei-ville,  to  screen 
a  principal  performer  from  stern  pains  and  penalties,  engaged  him 
in  his  household,  as  butler!  To  this  theatre,  in  1756,  the  Rev. 
John  Home,  then  thirty-two  years  of  age,  brought  his  tragedy  of 
"Douglas."  He  had  been  the  successor  of  Blair  (of  the  Grave), 
in  the  living  of  Athelstanford ;  and  had  left  it,  to  fight  against  the 
Pretender,  at  Falkirk,  where  he  was  captured.  The  reverend 
warrior  ultimately  escaped  to  England.  Collins  dedicated  to  him 
his  Ode  on  the  Superstitions  of  the  Highlands.  Home  returned 
northward,  full  of  the  love  of  poetry,  and  powerful  in  the  expres- 
sion of  it.  His  great  dramatic  essay  was  a  grievous  offence  against 
the  laws  of  his  church,  to  the  practical  duties  of  which  he  had 
again  surrendered  himself.  Had  it  not  been  that  Sarah  Ward 
was  willing  to  help  author  and  friends,  even  the  reading  of 
"  Douglas"  would  never  have  come  off.  Sarah  lent  her  sitting- 
room  in  the  Canongate,  to  Home ;  and  Digges  was  present  and 
silent,  for  once,  with  Mrs.  Ward,  to  enact  audience.  The  charac- 
ters were  thus  cast ;  and  a  finer  gi'oup  of  intellectual  persons,  sit- 
ting as  they  could  best  catch  the  light,  in  an  obscure  room  of  the 
Canongate,  cannot  well  be  imagined.  Lord  Randolph  (or  Bai*- 
nard,  according  to  the  original  cast)  was  read  by  Robertson ; 
Glenalvon,  by  the  greater  b:?tori an,  David  Hume;  Old  Norval, 
by  the  famous  Dr.  Carlyle,  the  minister  of  Musselburgh ;  and 
Douglas,  by  Home,  in  right  of  authorship.  Lady  Randolph  was 
allotted  to  Professor  Fergusson  ;  and  the  part  of  Anna  was  read  by 
Dr.  Blair,  the  minister  of  the  High  Church,  and  author  of  the  onco 
popular  sermons  ! 

But  the  Presbyteries  of  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  speedily  de- 
nounced author,  play,  dramatists,  and  dramas  generally,  as  instru- 
ments and   children   of   Satan ;    and   excommunicated,  not  only 


ENGLAND   AND   SCOTLAND.  415 

Home,  but  actors  and  audiences,  and  all  abettors  and  approvers ! 
The  triumph  of  the  play  compensated  for  every  thing.  The  nation 
confirmed  the  sentiment  of  the  critic  in  the  pit,  whose  voice  was 
heard  in  the  ovation  of  the  first  night,  exultingly  exclaiming, 
"  Weel,  lads,  what  do  ye  think  o'  WuUy  Shakspeare,  noo  ?"  The 
tragrdy  was  offered  to  Garrick,  who  refused  it.  Mrs.  Gibber,  in 
Lady  Randolph,  would  extinguish  Norval !  Rich  accepted  it,  ns 
.readily  as  Garrick  had  declined  it;  and  in  March,  1757,  London 
confirmed  the  judgment  of  the  city  in  the  north.  Gray  declared 
that  Home  had  retrieved  the  true  language  of  the  stage,  which  had 
been  lost  for  a  century.  The  Prince  of  Wales  conferred  a  pension 
on  this  expelled  minister,  and  Sheridan  sent  to  Home  a  gold  medal, 
worth  ten  guineas. 

Just  a  century  before  Home  was  denounced  by  the  Presbytery, 
Adam  Seaton,  dwelling  near  John  O'Groats,  where  Cromwell's 
troops  were  encamped,  on  their  way  to  the  Orkneys,  was  condemned 
to  make  public  confession  in  the  Kirk,  for  "  having  masking 
playes  in  his  house  for  the  Liglishe  men."  This  extract  from  the 
old  Session  record  of  the  parish  of  Canisbay  (quoted  in  Calder's 
History  of  Caithness),  shows  how  the  drama  "  looked  up,"  in  re- 
mote Scottish  localities,  in  spite  of  the  decree  of  1647.  A  Pres- 
byterian, lending  his  house  to  amateur,  or  professional,  actors  in 
Cromwell's  army,  is  a  novel  illustration  in  the  history  of  the  stage. 
Much  might  be  said,  thereon  ;  but,  Margaret  Woffington,  the  origi- 
nal Lady  Randolph  in  England,  now  retires  from  the  scene,  and 
waits  the  telling  of  her  story. 


XKD    OF   TOU   I. 


INDEX  TO   VOL.  I. 


A. 

"  Achilles,"  Gay's,  307. 

Actor,  profession  of,  in  Greece  and  Rome,  9, 
10,  it;  in  collision  with  clergy,  IG;  play- 
ing under  forged  license,  17;  authors,  127; 
actors,  how  considered  by  Dennis,  245;  in 
difficulties  at  Custom-House,  411. 

Actresses,  French,  M;  iirst  English,  51,  5S; 
the  dressing-rooms  of,  frequented  by  gen- 
tlemen, 179. 

Addison,  his  criticism  on  Shakspeare  and 
Lee,  159. 

jEsopus,  11. 

Albemarle,  Duchess  Dowager  ot,  introduced 
in  Burnaby's  "Lady's  Visiting  Day,"  189. 

Alleyn,  88. 

American  Indians  at  the  play,  377. 

Anne,  Queen,  at  Bath,  290;  receives  Wilks, 
818;  her  decree  for  regulating  stage  and 
audience,  382. 

"  Appias,"  by  Moncrieff,  407. 

Argyll,  Duke  of,  on  Garrick,  387. 

Ashbury  raises  condition  of  Irish  stage,  353. 

Aston,  Anthony,  93 ;  on  Mrs.  Barry,  105, 107, 
lOS ;  the  first  actor  of  entertainments,  250. 

"  Athelstan,"  Dr.  Browne's,  408. 

Audiences,  79;  French,  95,  102;  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  169-187,  239;  laugh  at 
tragedies,  185;  price  of  admission  returned 
to  those  who  left  the  house  before  the 
close  of  the  first  act,  178;  before  the  cur- 
tain rose,  181 ;  chaplains  amongst  them, 
184;  an  Oxford  man  in  the  pit,  277,  380; 
and  actors,  281 ;  partisans,  813;  footmen  a 
nuisance  among,  307;  how  they  treated 
the  first  regularly  licensed  plays,  829; 
audiences  ofl 700-1750,  3G9-390;  audience 
on  the  stage,  381. 

Aungier  Street,  Dublin,  Theatre  in,  353,  354. 

"Author,'  Foote's,  410. 

B. 

Bale,  Bishop,  his  tragedy  of  "  John,  King  of 
England,"  17. 

Banbury,  Lord,  75. 

Bancroft,  surgeon  and  playwright,  143. 

Bancroft,  Archbishop,  private  theatricals  ut 
houso  of,  24. 

"  Barbarossa,"  the  Eev.  Dr.  Browne's,  408. 

Barford.  playwright.  284. 

Baron  (French  actor),  95. 

ISaiTV,  IJlizalieth,  SO:  pains  taken  to  under- 
stand her  author,  bC ;  described  by  Cibber, 


106;  her  life,  104-112;  her  original  char- 
acters, 106;  her  points,  108;  her  succes- 
sors, 110;  her  acting  in  "  Valentinian," 
131. 
Barry,  Spranger,  his  first  appearance  in  Dub- 
lin, 355;  in  London,  357;  critique  on  his 
first  appearance  in  London,  357 ;  not  al- 
lowed to  play  Komeo,  363;  plays  with 
Garrick  in  Whitbread's  "  Roman  Father," 
363 ;  in  "  Edward,  the  Black  Prince,"  803 ; 
plays  in  the  same  pieces  with  Quin,  365; 
plays  against  Giirrick,  365;  Barry  and  Gar- 
rick rival  Romeos,  365-367;  Barry  and 
Garrick  together  in  the  same  pieces  in 
London,  360 ;  his  success  in  the  "  E.arl  of 
Essex,"  -393. 
Barton,  Miss  (Mrs.  Abiugton),  408. 
Beaux  at  the  plav,  181,  182,  183;  among  the 

audience,  879,  383,  385,  386,  387. 
"Beaux'  Stratagem,"  Farquhar's,  produced 
in  1707,  207  ;  death  of  the  author  in  1707, 
207. 
Bedford,  Duke  of,  and  Mrs.  Oldfield,  296. 
Beckingham  (of  Merchant  Tailors'),  238, 246. 
"  Beggars'  Opera,"  original  cast  of,  263 ;  dif- 
ferent players  of  the  principal  characters 
in,  344. 
Behn,  Ai)hra,  168,  164. 

Bellamy,  Mrs.,  and  Garrick,  343;  her  first 
appe.irance,  348;  abduction  of,  361;  and 
Dr.  Young,  392. 
Benefits, — the  first,  granted  to  Elizabeth 
Barry,  110;  Southerne's  benefits  profit- 
able, 244;  Oldfield,  Mrs.,  disinclined  to 
play  for  the  benefit  of  fellow-players,  291. 
Berkshire,  Earl  of;  his  three  literary  sons, 

136. 
Bertie,  Dye.  daughter  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  29S. 
Betterton,  42,  44,  45,  46;  at  Edge-hill,  52; 
life  of,  79-95;  dramatic  author,  128;  his 
Hamlet,  79-81;  his  benefit,  82 ;  his  illness, 
82;  last  night,  83;  early  home,  84:  his 
character,  85; — with  Cowley  and  Con- 
greve,  86;  Betterton  and  Mrs.  Biirry,  86, 
88;  his  adopted  daughter,  87;  number  of 
original  characters,  8S;  a  country  gentle- 
man, 89:  Betterton  and  Dryden,'89:  Beb- 
terton  and  Tillotsoii.  89;  Betterton  and 
Pope.  90.  91 ;  KnelUr's  portrait  of,  SO,  91 ; 
Pope's  copy  of  his  portrait,  91 ;  the  audi- 
enct'O  he  j)referred,  9 1 ;  his  zeal  and  powers, 
91;  Bitterton  and  C'ibber.  92;  Betterton 
with  Kiigs  and  Qiu-ens.  92;  Aston's  por- 
traitinv  of  Betterton.  98;  Cibber's  pi/"- 
tiaiUiri  of  Betterton,  94;  Belterton's  s«i- 
uiy,  95. 


il8 


TXDEX. 


Botterton,  Mrs.,  instructs  the  Princesses 
Mary  and  Anne,  6S;  at  huino,  SI. 

Bills  of  the  i>Iay,  drawn  up  by  Wilks.  -SIo. 

Bisse,  Bisliop  of  Hereford,  "when  (iarricli 
was  born  there,  .337. 

Blackfriars'  Theatre,  18.  23,  27,  85,  36,  79. 

"  IJoadicea,"  Glover's.  406. 

Boheme,  his  Lear,  301. 

Booth,  Barton,  his  life,  265-2S7;  related  to 
the  Earls  of  Warrington,  265;  at  West- 
minster, 205;  intended  for  the  church, 
265;  first  appears  in  Dublin,  265;  his  t?e'- 
liiil  in  London,  266;  his  first  marriage, 
267;  his  second,  26S;  his  Pyrrhus,  273; 
his  Cato,  268;  general  ciirecr  till  his  death, 
269-237. 

Booth  and  Kins  William,  318. 

Booth  Street,  28.3. 

Bowen,  converted  by  Collier's  book  against 
the  stage,  120;  killed  by  Quin,  12i  ;  his 
oriarinal  characters,  23S. 

Bowman.  S7;  introduces  Booth  to  Detter- 
ton,  266;  marries  Betterton's  adopted 
dau;ihter,  87:  Bowman's  early  vocation, 
100;  cause  of  retirement  from  the  stase, 
100. 

Boxers  employed  to  overawe  audiences,  3S5. 

Boyle,  Charles,  dramatist,  196. 

Boys  who  played  women's  parts,  52,  53. 

Bradshaw,  Mrs.,  actress,  marries  Martin 
Folkes,  the  antiquary,  220. 

Bracegirdle.  Mrs.,  115-llS;  tributes  from  her 
lovers,  116. 

"Briton,"  the,  by  Ambrose  Philips.  250. 

Brooke,  his  "Oustavus  Vasa,"  328. 

"Brothers,"  the.  Young's,  392;  proceeds  of, 
given  to  the  Soc.  Prop.  Gospel,  392. 

Browne,  Ilev.  Dr.,  407;  commits  suicide,  408. 

Buckingham,  Duke  of,  his  dramatic  works, 
129. 

Bullock,  actor  and  author,  232,  234,  239,  380. 

Burke,  Edmund,  85. 

Burbage,  22,  25. 

Burlesque,  234. 

Burt,  8S,  52;  his  Cicero,  5-3. 

Butler,  Hon.  Mrs.,  and  Gai-rick.  348. 

"Busiris,"  SToung's,  240 ;  dedication  of,  241. 


c. 

Caithness,  plays  acted  before  Croinwcllian 

s<ddiers  in,  415. 
Cambridge,  plav  .at,  15,  19.  2.3. 
Capel  Street,  Dublin,  theatre  in,  355. 
"Cureless  Husiiaiul,"  Gibber's,  199. 
Carey,  Lord  Falkland,  his  wit,  1*3. 
Carey,  G.  S.,  329. 
Carlile,  Sir  Ludovick,  138. 
Carlisle  (or  CarliU).  actor  and  soldier,  slain 

at  Aghrim,  120;  dramatic  autlior,  127. 
Caroline,  CJiu'cm.  and  Mrs.  Oldtield,  295. 
Carroll — see  Centlivre. 
Cartwright,  70. 

Caryll.  Lord,  dramatic  works,  131. 
Casbell  (v<M-alisl),  plays  against  Garrick,  345. 
Castlemaino   Lady,  her  conduct  at  the  i)lav, 

Catherine  of  Jiraganza  at  the  play,  170. 
"Cato,"'  the  ongiual  cast,  a.  d."  1713,  224; 


"Cato."  2CS-271;    various  actors  of  the 
part,  271. 

Centlivre,  Mrs.  (Miss  Freeman,  Mrs.  Fox, 
Mrs.  Carroll),  actress  and  authoress,  167; 
played  men's  parts,  167;  her  plays,  167; 
her  death,  16S;  personal  appearance,  261, 
88;  source  of  her  "Wonder,"  131;  origin 
of  her  Marplot,  138;  her  "Bold  Stroke  for 
a  Wife,"  239. 

Chamberlain's  (the  L(u'd)  servants,  35. 

Chanipmesle,  the  French  activss,  lU. 

Chaplain  in  the  i)it,  184. 

Charke,  Charlotte,  danghttr  of  CoJ  ey  CiU 
ber,  her  character,  286;  in  a  female  part, 
325;  i)lays  male  characters,  320;  playa 
against  Garriok,  .344. 

Charles  IL  at  the  play,  169. 

Charlotte,  Queen,  and  "  Polly  Honeycombe," 
289.  ^ 

Chesteifield,  Lord,  his  opposition  to  the  Li- 
censing Act.  327-8;  on  audiences,  367. 

Chetwynd.  the  first  "licenser  of  plays,"  328. 

"Chinese  Festival,"  Garrick's,  408. 

Christian  Fathers,  the,  their  view  of  .the 
stage,  1 1. 

Church  chorister  on  the  Dublin  stage,  351. 

Churchill,  Colonel,  son  of  Mrs.  Oldfield,  299: 
descendants  of,  299. 

Churchill,  General,  and  Mrs.  Oldfleld,  299. 

Gibber,  CoUey,  his  first  characters,  113;  his 
tact  and  temper.  216;  89,  92,  94;  occa- 
sional nights  of,  331 ;  his  audiences,  379- 
8(t;  the  censorship  and  his  Kichard,  385; 
hissed,  286;  the  "Provoked  Husband," 
262;  its  cist,  262;  Gibber  at  the  bar,  262; 
his  generous  testimony  of  Wilks,  314; 
borrows  Lord  and  Lady  Townlev  from 
Charles  -Tohnson's  Sir  Francis  and  Lady 
t)mbre,  240;  on  audiences,  374. 

Gibber,  Jane,  in  Juliet.  .349. 

Gibber,  'I'heophilus,  his  first  appearance, 
24s ;  liis  Pistol.  248:  instructed  by  his 
father  in  Pistol,  284;  orisinal  George 
Barnwell,  303;  his  "Lover,"  803;  his 
"  Harlot's  Progress,"  304. 

Cibber,  Mrs.,  (Susanna  iMaria),  first  appear- 
ance as  an  actress,  820;  withdraws,  331. 

Clergy,  actors  as  well  as  authors,  15. 

Clive,  Mrs.  (Miss  Kaftor),  first  appearance 
of,  284;  on  the  "quality,"  296. 

"Ctclia,"  C.  Johnson's,  303. 

Clun,  52;  his  lago,  53;  murdered,  53. 

Cochin  China,  primitive  theati-e  in,  9. 

Coekburn,  Mns.,  166;  her  defence  of  Locka, 
166. 

Cockpit,  Drnry  Lane,  45. 

Collier,  Jeremy,  effect  of  his  book  on  Bi>w- 
en,  120;  attacks  Congreve  and  "VVychcr- 
ley,  154. 

Comedy,  with  a  murder  in  it,  190,  198;  a 
pious  one  condemned,  198;  qualified 
writers  of  uenteel.  294. 

"  C'ointe  do  Bonrsoufle,"  alleged  posthumous 
comedy  by  Voltaire,  edited  at  Paris,  in 
1862,  translated  from  Vanbrngh's  "  lie- 
lapse." 

"Confederacy,"  Vanbrugh's,  204;  Lord  Gor- 
denstonc  on,  204. 

Congreve,  characters  written  by  bim  for 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  IKJ;  his  lines  lo  "  Bel- 
inda," 117;  gcntleinyi>  -iiid  author    '4T 


INDEX. 


419 


153,  155;   defence  of  his  own  plays,  155; 

his  disparaginieiil  of  Cibber,  201. 
•'Conscious  Loveis,"  Steele's,  "251. 
-Constantine,"  by  l)r.  Francis,  4UI. 
Coolie,  dramatist!  32t},  'iU. 
Cooper,  Mrs.,  dramatist,  324. 
"Coriolanus,"  Thomson's,  362. 
Cornbiiry,  Lord,  342. 
Corye,  author,  143. 
Costume,  Wilks  as  a  dresser,  311. 
(;o!irt,  plays  at,  14,  18,  23,  36,  57,  133,  176, 

177,  373. 
Coveut  Garden,    first   opening  of  Theatre 

Koyal,  A.  V.  1732,  3U7. 
Cowley,  147;  as  a  dramatic  writer,  149-50; 

appropriations    -otn,  150. 
Creation,  pictorial  rejiresentation  of,  9. 
"Creusa,"  Whitehe.id's,  406. 
Crisp,  author.  406. 
Critics,  at  a  new  play,  379. 
Curtain  Theatre,  the,  29. 
Cuzzoni,  66. 

D. 

Durfey,  224. 

Davenant.  43;  actors  in  his  company,  49; 
buried  like  a  gentleman,  100. 

Davenport,  Mrs.,  and  the  Earl  of  O.xford,  67. 

l>avies.  Miss,  hor  birth  and  descendants,  67. 

Davys,  Mrs.,  dramatic  writer,  232. 

Deaths  of  actors,  peculiar,  kobinson  slain 
in  fight.  39;  Uetterton,  William,  drowned, 
50:  Clun,  murdered,  53;  Uoodman,  Car- 
dell,  in  e.xile,  74;  Medbourne,  of  rigorous 
imprisonment,  101 ;  Smith,  of  over-exer- 
tion, 102;  Mountfort,  murdered,  119;  Car- 
lisle, slain  at  Aghrim,  120;  Bowen,  killed 
by  Quin,  121;  Spiller,  of  apoplexy,  on  the 
stage,  2S7;  liricourt,  of  apoplexy,  on  the 
French  stage,  297;  Hallam,  killed  by 
Macklin,  in  the  green  room,  323;  Bond  dies 
on  the-  stage,  324;  Hulett,  324,  Cashel, 
of  ai>oplexy,  on  the  stjige,  353;  Williams, 
killed  by  Quin,  395;  Mondory,  ot  apo- 
jdexy,  on  the  French  stage,  254,  297  ;  Mont- 
fleury,  of  apoi)lexy,  on  the  French  stage, 
254,  297;  Peer,  of  grief,  121;  Honlen, 
killed  by  CaiiL-iin  Burgess,  124;  Keen,  of 
a  broken  heart,  240;  Bowman,  his  death, 
830. 

Decree  of  1556  against  strollers,  17;  of  1572, 
22;  of  1647.  suppressing  the  plavers,  37, 
38;  effect  of  the  decree, "39,  40,  41,"  42. 

Dedicatini)  fee,  214,  218;  from  Karl  of  Orrery 
to  Theobald,  246. 

Defresne,  French  actor,  J98. 

Dclane,  at  Goodman's  Fields,  304 ;  in  Dublin, 
354;  plays  against  Barry,  363;  the  origi- 
nal Mahomet,  363. 

Delaney,  .Mrs.,  on  (Jarrick,  337. 

Delawarr,  Lord,  298. 

Decius  Laberius,  a  knight, — his  fee  for  act- 
ing. 11. 

Dennis,  147,  14S;  — ,  his  "thunder"  in  "  Ap- 
pius  anil  Virginia,"  211. 

Descendants  of  players. — Of  Margaret 
Hughes  and  I'rince  Kui)ert,  59;  of  Nell 
Owyn  aud  Charles  II.  (Dukes  of  St.  Al- 
bans), 64;  of  Mary  Davies  and  Charles  11. 
(Lords  I'etre),  68;  of  Miss  Santlow  and 


Secrct.ary  Craggs  (Lords  St.  Gcrniains  nnd 
Marquis  of  Abercorn,  273;  of  Mrs.  Old- 
field  and  General  Churchill  (Earls  of 
Cadogan).  299. 

Digbv,  Earl  of  Bristol,  his  dramatic  works, 
131". 

Dodsky,  his  dramatic  pieces,  325,  329. 

Doggelt,  characters  written  for  him,  by  Con- 
greve,  122;  illiterate,  122;  his  Whig  i)rin- 
ciples,  122;  his  "coat  and  badge,''  122; 
dramatic  author,  127. 

Dering,  Charle.s,  fights  Mr.  Vaughan  on  the 
sUige,  179. 

Dorset  Gardens  Theatre,  48. 

Dorset,  Marquis  of, — his  "servants,"'  16. 

"Douglas"  in  London,  410;  the  great  read- 
ing of,  in  Scotland,  414. 

Drake,  Dr.,  dramatic  author,  144. 

Drama,  origin  of,  in  England,  12;  religious 
element  in,  13. 

"Drummer,"  Addison's,  231. 

Dramatic  College,  pr(^ject  for  founding  one 
in  the  last  century,  306. 

Dramatic  poets  of  the  last  half  of  the  17th 
century,  127-102. 

Dramatists,  female,  163-168. 

Drury  Lane,  Prince  of  Wales  at,  370,  880. 

Dryden.  88,  147,  154;  buried  like  a  poet,  100; 
on  audiences,  378;  on  Congreve,  155;  hia 
false  quantities,  156;  reply  to  a  critic,  156; 
protected  by  Charles  II.,  156. 

Dutlet,  inillinei-  and  poet,  144. 

Duke  and  Duchess  of  York  at  the  play,  171. 

Duke's  com|iany  established,  47;  — house, 
actresses  at,  66. 

Dublin  stage,  ill-man.aged,  347;  Sheridan's 
management  of,  347. 

Dublin  Theatre,— early  history  of,  351-356. 

Duels,  actors  engaged  in. — Quin  and  Bowen, 
121,321-2;  Horden  and  Captain  Burgess, 
124;  "Mr.  U.,"  of  Linc(dn's  Inn  Fields, 
and  an  ofiicer  at  Barne.s  Elms,  236;  Pow- 
ell and  Wilks,  316;  Garrick  and  Gitfard, 
386;  Quin  and  Williams,  395;  between 
actors  ami  audience,  387;  Quin  and  Theo 
jihilus  Cibber,  395. 

Durfey,  his  speech  to  the  audience,  380. 

Dyer,  his  first  appearance,  363;  marries 
Miss  Bullock,  grand-daughter  of  Wilks, 
363. 

E. 

"  Ear]  of  Essex,"  Jones's,  391,  393. 

East  India   Company,   play  suppressed   at 

desire  ol,  26. 
Echard,  the  "  Eunuchus,"  233. 
Egleton,  actor.  253. 

"Elizabeth's  (The  Lady)  Servants,"  34. 
Elli.'-ton  in  Uauger,  35». 
Elringlon,  275-7;  actor,  362,  354. 
"Encore!"    introduction  of.  214. 
Estcoujt,  author  and  actor,  194;  his  life,  195, 

creates  Kite  and  Sir  Francis  Gripe,  220; 

Gibber's  judgment  on,  221 ;  I'rvvidore  of 

the  Beefsteak  Club,  222. 
Etherege,   protects    Elizabeth    Barry,   110; 

Sir  G..  173;  life  and  works.  139-142. 
"  Eugenia,"  by  Dr.  Francis,  367. 
"Eurydice,"  Mallet"s,  302. 
Evelyn,  on  the  drama,  176-  6k  i 


420 


INDEX. 


Fiilconbriilnre,  Lady  Mary,  daughter  ofCrom- 

well.— itt,  thf  theatre,  171. 
False   quantities  of  poets.   -Drydeu's,  156; 

Fn.wde,  302;  Hughes,  245. 
"Fair  Penitent."  Kowe's,  196-7. 
l'".ine.  Sir  Francis,  piayw  liglit,  138. 
F:ir(|Hti;ir  almsed  hv  Curve,  1S9;  and  Mrs. 

Olilti.-ld,  2SS,  2i»3;"  died,"  a.  d.  HOT,  207. 
F.irren.  Wni.,  as  IJayes,  71. 
•Faslnonalde  evening.''  381. 
••  Faphionable  night,"''fir8t,  A.  D.  1717,  233. 
Faustina,  00. 
F.nton.  Elijah.  254. 
Kenton,   havinia,   her  first    appear.ince   in 

tragedy  and  comedy,  260;  in  opera,  263; 

marrii  s  Duke  of  Bolton,  264. 
Fielding.  S27.  828;  notices  of  his  plays,  287. 
Filiner,  Dr.,  dramatist,  144. 
Fleetwood,  of  Drury  Lane,  .34.3. 
Foote  describes  Garrick,  .339  ;  his  costume, 

in  Othello,  345;  his  fust  apjiearance,  344. 
Footmen  in  the  gallery,  183;  blasphemers, 

wit  of,  183;  their  privileges  from  1699  to 

1780.  .388. 
Fortune  Theatre,  28. 
Foster,  Chief  Justice,  his  censure  of  Sidlev, 

141. 
'•Foundling,"  Moore's,  .360. 
Fountain  (the  brothers)  erect  playhouse  in 

Edinburgh,  411. 
Fianeis.  liev.  Dr.,  dramatist,  367,  407. 
Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  375. 
French    actors,   tr.iits   of. — IS.aron,   9.5,   198; 

Clairon,  297;  Chuuipuiesle.  Ill ;  Defresne, 

198;    MonltU-nry,    2r4 ;    Moutdory,   254; 

Lafont,  234;  IJejart,  Mile.,  274;  Bricourt, 

207;    Lecouvreur,    297;    Kaucourt,    298; 

Gossin,  Mile.,  382. 
Frowde,  his  "Fall  of  Saguntum,"  260. 


G. 


Galleries,  vandalism  of,  387. 

Gairick,  tii-st  appearance  of,  332-334 ;  attrac- 
tion of,  334;  his  season  at  Goodman's 
Fields,  836;  first  appearance  at  Drury 
Lime,  -336;  at  Dublin,  3.36;  his  critics,  336; 
descent,  birth,  and  early  life,  337-339; 
criticised  by  Victor  and  Murphy,  345; 
portrayed  by  Davles.  :346;  Garrick  and 
Quin  play  together  for  the  first  time,  3.58; 
creates  Kanger,  358;  Garrick  and  Barry 
))lay  together  in  the  same  pieces,  in  Lon- 
don, 360 ;  and  Barry,  rival  Komeos,  365-6. 

Garrick  in  Dublin,  347-8;  in  the  same  pieces 
with  Barry  and  Sheridan,  856;  salary  for 
occasional  nights,  850. 

Gay,  ex-mercer  and  poet,  224;  his  "Cap- 
tives," 255. 

"Gamester,"  Moore's,  original  cast  of,  891. 

"George  Barnwell,"  Lillo's,  303;  audience 
at,  388. 

George  I.  as  i)atron  of  the  drama,  371-3. 

George  IL  as  patron  of  the  drama,  87.5-7. 

Gift'ard,  his  first  a|)peurance  witij  Booth,  281. 

Oihlon,  148,  149,  151. 

Globe  Theatre,  19,  28. 


Glover's  "Roadicea,"  406. 

Gloucester,  Duke  of,  first  prince  who  iC4i|k> 
tained  a  company  of  players,  14;  effc-Jiol 
his  exami)le,  14. 

Godolphin,  Mrs.,  177. 

Goffe,  actor  of  women's  parts,  43. 

Goodman,  Cardell,  sketch  of,  73-4. 

Goodman's  Fields,  various  Iheatres  in,  804. 

Gosson's  "School  of  Abuse,"  20,  32. 

Gould,  domestic  servant  and  poet,  144. 

Grafton,  Imke  of,  343. 

Grange,  Erskine  of.  413. 

Gray,  on  Garrick,  336. 

Grillin  (I5enjamin),  actor  and  author,  280' 
his  "Whig  and  Tory,"  247;  the  original 
Lovegold,  .304. 

Grimaldi,  330. 

Grindal,  Archbishop,  his  counsel  against 
l)layers,  21. 

Gwyn,  Noll, — where  bom,  61 ;  early  life  of, 
61-2;  by  whom  taught  and  introduced  to 
the  stage,  62;  her  intimacy  with  Hart  and 
Lord  Buckhurst,  62;  her  career,  63;  her 
sons,  64;  descendants  of  her  and  Charles 
II.  in  the  peerage,  64;  her  extravagance, 
66;  her  gambling,  65;  not  the  founder  of 
Chel.sea  Hospital,  65;  Bi.shop  Kenn  makes 
way  fur  her,  65;  Countess  of  Greenwich, 
65;  death,  65;  alleged  real  name,  66. 

H. 

Haines,  Joe;  sketch  of,  75-8;  and  Lord 
Sunderland,  76;  his  original  character,  76; 
cause  of  dismissal,  77;  his  accomplish- 
ments, 77  ;  his  wit,  78. 

Halifax,  Lord,  ".\dvice  to  a  Daughter,"  186. 

Hallam,  killed  by  Macklin,  323. 

Hatton,  Christoiiher,  Lord.  42. 

Harlequin,  described  by  Alphonse  Karr,  339 

Harris,  86,  96. 

Hart,  38;  his  Alexander,  52;  death  of;  .52. 

Harvey,  Lady,  ridiculed  on  the  stage,  178. 

Harvey,  Lord,  and  Mrs.  Oldfield,  298. 

Haymarket,  King's  Theatre,  built,  82 
opened  by  Fielding,  325;  French  com- 
pany there,  329;  opened,  256;  opened  by 
Theophilus  Cibber,  819. 

Haywood,  Mrs.,  her  "Fair  Captive,"  249; 
acts  in  her  own  play,  "  A  Wife  to  be  Let,"  ■ 
2.')3;  playwright,  2S4. 

Herring,  Archbishop,  406. 

Higden,  lawyer  and  poet,  144. 

Highmore,  an  amateur,  plays  against  Gar- 
rick 344. 

Hill,  Aaron,  212;  his  "ElfVid,"  21-3,  282; 
project  for  making  oil  from  beech  nuts, 
2.^)5;  for  colonizing  South  Carolina,  255; 
his  "Henry  V.,"  255;  his  criticism  on 
Booth,  27S-9. 

Hill,  Cajitain; — attempts  to  carry  off  Mrs. 
Bracegirdic,  lib;  murders  Will  Mount- 
fort,  119. 

Hillingsley,  Sir  Thomas,  44. 

Hijipisley,  plays  against  Garrick,  840. 

Holden,  Mrs., — unrehearsed  stage  efloct  by, 
69 ;  related  to  lietterton,  69. 

Hcdiand  House,  Kensington ;  private  pla;a 
at,  43. 

Uolyrood,  play  at,  414. 


INDEX. 


421 


Home,  411. 

Hope  Theatre,  Jonson's  "Bartholomew 
Fair"  tirst  playod  at,  29. 

Herbert,  Wm.,  champion  of  Nell  'iwyn,  66. 

Ilorden,  the  handsome  actor  slain  by  Cap- 
tain Burges-s,  124. 

Horton,  Mrs.,  her  tirst  appearance,  228,  863 ; 
protected  by  Lord  Luxborough,  364,  876; 
opposed  to  Mrs.  Cibber,  324. 

Havard,  actor  and  playwright,  326;  method 
of  writing  his  "Charles  1.,"  326;  -'Kegu- 
lus,"  344. 

Howard,  Edward,  playwright,  136. 

Howard,  James,  his  play  with  a  double  di- 
iioiument,  137;  his  "English  Monsieur," 
187. 

Howard,  Robert,  caricatured  by  Shadwell, 
137;  his  plays,  137. 

Hughes,  Margaret,  58;  descendants  of  her 
and  Prince  Rupert,  through  marriage  of 
their  daughter  with  General  Howe,  59. 

Hughes,  playwright,  sketch  of,  245;  his 
"  Siege  of  Damascus."  245. 

"Humphrey,  Duke  of  Gloucester,"  by  Phil- 
lips, 252. 


I. 


Individuals  represented  or  satirized  on  the 
stage — Lady  Harvey,  by  Mrs.  Corey,  178. 
Duchess  Dowager  of  Albemarle,  as  Lady 
Lovetov,  in  Burnaby's  "Lady's  Visiting 
Day,"  189.  William  IIL  and  Louis  XIV., 
as  Tamerlane  and  Bajazet,  192;  Sir  Charles 
Sedley,  mimicked  by  Kvnaston,  54;  Dave- 
nant,  Dryden,  and  Sir  liobert  Howard,  as 
Bayes,  in  the  "  Rehearsal,"  130.  Howard, 
as  Sir  Positive  Atall,  in  Shadwell's  "  Im- 
pertinents,"  137.  Oliver  Cromwell,  as 
Damocles;  Hugh  Peters,  as  Hugo  de 
Petra;  and  Monk,  as  Clemenes,  in  Edward 
Howard's  "Usurper,"  136.  Charles  IL 
and  his  Ladies,  in  Robert  Howard's  "  Duke 
of  Lerma,"  137.  Charles  and  his  Court, 
in  Fane's  "Tamerlane,"  139.  Lady  Castle- 
maine  and  Churchill,  in  Sedley's  "Bella- 
mira;"  Rochester,  as  Dorimant;  Ethe- 
rege,  as  Bellair;  and  Beau  Hewitt,  as  Sir 
Foplin^  Flutter,  in  Etherege's  "  Man  of 
Mode;  Duke  of  Lauderdale,  as  Limber- 
hams,  in  Dryden's  "Kind  Keeper;"  Mr. 
Russell,  as  i'addle,  in  Moore's  "Found- 
ling," 360.  Mr.  Apreece  in  Foote's  "Au- 
thor," 410. 

"Irene,"  Johnson's,  362,  867. 


Jacob,  Sir  Hildebrand,  author,  252. 

"Jane  Shore,"  the  original  cast,  a.  d.  1714, 

225. 
Jcvon,  his  original   vocation,  100;  author 

and  actor   100;  unrehearsed  stage  ettecta 

by,  100. 
Johnson,  Charles,  dramatist.  223.  227. 
Tohnson,  Sam,  at    Lichfield  with  Garrick, 

838;  —  in  state  at  his  own  play,  362. 
'ones,  his  Earl  of  Esses,  391. 


K. 


Keeling,  Chief  Justice,  his  servilltj,  141. 

Killigrew,  actors  in  his  company,  49. 

Killigrew,  Sir  William,  dramatic  author,  13& 

Killigrew,  Thomas,  author,  240. 

King's  company  at  Drurv  Lane,  47. 

Knapton,  Miss,  first  wife  of  Wilks,  809. 
ox-igin  of  her  family,  312. 

Knipp,  Mrs.,  59;  her  home,  59. 

Knowle.  theatrical  portraits  at,  91.  100-1. 

Kynaston,  44,  53;  in  Hyde  Park,  54;  beatetc 
by  a  bully,  54;  his  Leon,  54;  his  original 
characters,  55;  death  and  descendants,  6.^. 


L 

Lacy.  70;  the  original  Bayes,  71 ;  fracas  with 

Howard,  71. 
"Lady  Jane  Grey,"  Rowe's,  228. 
Lansdowne,  Lord  (Granville),  his  dramatic 

works,  134. 
Lampe,  ("  Dragon  of  Wantley"),  829. 
Lear,  Garrick  and  Barry  in,  409. 
Lee,  his  i-eply  to  a  critic,  156;  Mrs.  Siddons' 

estimation  of,  159;  death,  160;  —  fails  aa 

an  actor,  100. 
Leicester,  Earl  of,  friend  of  players,  23. 
Leigh,  his  "Kensington  Gardens."  246;  — 

the  original  Spanish  Friar,  100-1 ;  merits 

as  an  actor,  101. 
Leanard,  dramatic  poet,  143. 
Licensing  Act,  causes  of,  327. 
Lillo,  his  "Fatal  Curiosity," 325 ;  "Marina," 

329 ;  jeweller  and  dramatist,  303. 
Lincoln's  Inn   Fields  Theatre,  48,  79,  230, 

305,  340. 
Locke,  Matthew,  51 
Lovelace,  Lord,  116. 
"Lover,"  the;  Th.  Gibber's,  304. 
Lowen,  89. 

Lyddell,  Mr.  Garrick's  pseudonym  at  Ips- 
wich, 840. 


M. 


Macklin,  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  305;  first 
plays  Shylock,  330;  kills  Hallam,  828. 

Masks  at  the  play,  172,  182. 

Madden,  dramatic  author,  284. 

Maidwell,  plavwright,  144. 

Mallet,  his  "  Mustapha,"  329. 

Manager,  tlie  original'  English, — a  monk,  12; 
old  name  for  "  master,"  84. 

Manley,  Mrs.  165. 

Manning,  diplomatist  and  dramatist,  195. 

Mapp,  Mrs.,  at  the  play,  371. 

Marriages,  theatrical  —  Wilks  and  Mrs. 
Fell,  daughter  of  Charles  II.'s  cannon- 
founder,  816;  Bowman  and  the  daughter 
of  Sir  Francis  Watson,  87;  Mrs.  Seymour 
and  Boheme,  258;  Booth  and  MissSai.. 
low,  268;  Mrs.  Brudshaw  with  Manin 
Folkcs,  the  anticjuarv,  226;  Cibber.  Theo- 
philus.  and  Susaimu  Maria  Arne,  320.  328 
Norris  and  Miss  Knapton,  (sister  of  Mra 


422 


TXDEX. 


Wilks),  312;  Builock.  Christopher,  mar- 
ries (liiughter  of  Wilks;  Dy^T  marries 
daughter  of  Chr.  Bullock,  363;  Younger, 
Mrs.,  and  the  Hon.  John  Finch,  273. 

Marshall  (Anne  and  Rebecca).  60;  their 
father,  60. 

Marshall,  Rebecca,  fracas  with  Sir  Hugh 
Mi.ldleton,  ISO. 

Martyn,  iilaywright,  285. 

Mivynwaring  and  Mrs.  Oldfield,  295. 

Medbourne  introduces  Moliere's  "Tartuffe" 
(in  the  English  stage,  101. 

'•  Medea,"  C.  Johnson's,  302. 

Merchant  Tailors'  pupils  at  the  play,  289. 

•■  Meroi)e,"  Hill's,  3G2. 

'•  Merope,"  Jeffreys',  302. 

Middleton's  "Game  at  Chess"  suppressed, 
26. 

Middleton,  Sir  Hugh,  fracas  with  Rebecca 
Marshall,  ISO. 

Miller,  Joseph.  287. 

Miller,  Scottish  stone-cutter  and  playwright, 
249. 

Miller,  Rev.  Mr.,  dramatist,  326,  829;  his 
"  Mahomet."  344. 

Mills  (John),  his  original  characters,  124, 
325. 

"  Miss  in  her  Teens,"  Garrick's,  353. 

Mohun.  39,  52;  at  Edgehill,  62;  the  orid- 
nal  Clytus,  72;  his  remark  on  Lee's  Re.id- 
ing,  73;  Lord  — ,  US;  concerned  with 
Hill  in  the  murder  of  Mountfort,  119;  his 
death,  119. 

Moncrieff,  dramatist,  407. 

Monk,  General,  44,  45. 

Moore,  draper  and  dramatist,  360 ;  his 
"  Gamester,"  391 ;  Sir  Thomas,  dramatic 
aiithor,  239. 

Morgan  M'Namara,  406. 

Mossop,  405,  407. 

Motteux,  Peter,  dramatist,  145. 

Mottley  and  Queen  Caroline.  878;  his  "Im- 
perial Captives,"  247;  "Antioehus,"  249. 

Mountfort,  Mrs.,  her  portrait  by  Cibber, 
113-14;  the  original  Nell,  115. 

Mountfort.  Susan,  her  intimacy  with  Barton 
Booth,  208. 

M'mntfort,  Will,  llS-19;  the  original  Sir 
Courtly  Nice,  IIS;  murdered,  119;  his 
dramatic  works.  12S. 

Murray,  Regent,  at  the  play,  410. 


N. 


Newcastle,  Duke  of,  his   dramatic   works. 

130-31. 
Nokes.  James.  55-6 ;  merits  as  a  comic  ac- 
tor, 56;    described  by  Cibber,  56;    death 

and  descendaiits,  57. 
'Nonjuror,"  Gibber's, 236;  the  original  cast. 

2^}G;  opposition  to,  2;!6. 
Norri.s,  '-Jubilee  Dicky,"  the  original  Scrub, 

121. 
Norsa,    Miss  (vocalist),  and    Lord   Orford, 

364. 
Nossiter,    Miss.  405;  in   love  with  Barry, 

406;  acts  with  Barry,  405-6,  409. 


o. 

Odell,  the  first  deputy  licenser  of  playa,  323, 
his  '•Chimera,"  '249. 

Odingsell,  Gabriel,  dramatist,  death  of,  258; 
his  "Capricious  Lovers,"  258. 

Oldfiel.l,  Mrs.,  Sketch  of  her  life,  288-300; 
eng<iged  bv  Rich,  '289;  at  first  unsuccess- 
ful, 290;  Gibber's  opinion  of,  291 ;  her  va- 
rious characters,  292-4;  private  life  of, 
295;  her  children,  298;  and  Wilks,  292, 
313,  314,  31.5. 

Opera,  Italian,  prices  of  admission  in  the 
last  century,  209,  210,  21.5,  22-2. 

Opera,  English,  introduction  of,  202. 

Ormond,  1)uke  ot,  issues  warrant  to  pro- 
hibit Wilks  leaving  Ireland,  310. 

Orrery,  Lord  (Broghill),  life,  132;  his  plays, 
133. 

Otway,  159;  death,  160;  fulls  as  an  actor, 
100. 

Overbury,  Sir  Thomas,  on  the  "  Actor,"  80, 
81,  95. 

Owenson,  Mr.  (father  of  Lady  Morgan),  ap- 
pears as  Tamerlane,  with  an  Irish  accent 
193. 

Oxford  audience,  refinement  of,  378 


"Pammachns,"  a  political  tragedy,  15-16. 

Pantomimes,  "crutches  to  plays,"  217;  how 
considered  by  Barton  Booth.  281 ;  Rich'* 
"  Necromancer,  or  the  history  of  Dr 
Faustus,"  256. 

Parker,  Dr.,  on  burying  Mrs.  Oldfield.  298. 

"  Parson's  Wedding,"  acted  by  women,  51. 

"Pasquin,"  Fielding's,  82.5. 

Patent,  the  first,  ^'ranted  by  Elizabeth,  22. 

Paterson,  dramatist,  329. 

Patrick,  Bishop,  77. 

Pavne,  Neville,  playvvi-ight.  143. 

Peer,  the  lean  actor,  died  of  grief  at  growing 
fat.  121. 

Pembroke,  Mary,  Countess  of,  66. 

Pep\  s,  disparagement  of  Shakspeare,  152. 

'•  PeViander,"  Tracy's.  302. 

"  Pha-dra  and  Hippolytus,"  Smith's,  played 
as  .a  counter-.attraction  against  opera,  A.  D. 
1707,  206. 

jMiilips,  .\mbrose,  2'20. 

Philips.  Mrs.,  the  "matchless  Orinda,"  163. 

"Pbiloelea,"  Morgan's,  406. 

Pinkethman,  122;  his  manner  and  merits  aa 
an  aetor,  l'2:i;  death  of,  and  original  char- 
acters, '2.'i.i. 

Piraii  Round,  a  Cornish  Theatre,  80. 

Pit  >r  the  olden  time,  173;  severity  of,  881; 
French,  3S2. 

Pi.-^,  Mrs,,  dramatic  authoress,  129;  play 
Wright.  166. 

Plays  at  Scottish  schools,  414. 

Poets,  deaths  of  various,  1(')0-61 ;  early  voca- 
tions of,  147-S;  professional,  147-162. 
Pope,  on  (xarrick,  3:^4;   his   intimacy  with 
Betterlon.  90;  coines  Kneller's  jiortraitof 
the  actor.  91. 

Political  Plays,  248-t. 


INDEX. 


423 


"Polly,"  Gay's  sequel  to  the  '•  Beg;u'ars" 
Dpeni"  suppressed,  "-iSo. 

Porier.  Majoi-,  dnunatic  f>oet,  139;  kills  Sir 
llonry  IJelhisys.  1B9. 

l"oni-r.  Mrs.,  oOl ;  opposed  to  Mrs.  Gibber, 
A-'-l ;  her  retirement,  341. 

Portsiiiouth,  U.. chess  of,  fracas  in  theatre 
on  account  of,  179. 

Powell  (George),  U3,  9S-9;  nearly  killed  on 
th.1  stage,  l>y  Sandford.  2-M;  death  of,  22S. 

Presbyters,  Scottish,  at  the  play,  412. 

Press,  the.  and  the  stiise,  32-3. 

Pritchard,  Miss,  4l)9. 

Pritchard,  Mrs.,  oUl  ;  plays  Nell  at  the  Hay- 
market,  319. 

Prynjie,  o();  hU /fixtrio-MaKtiec,  34-6;  en- 
try into  London,  37. 

Pureed,  Henry,  51. 


Q. 


Quarrels  of  players,  71. 109, 121. 124,  209,  210, 
23s,  313,  39o,  40S. 

Queen's  Theatre.  Haymarket,  S2;  first  sea- 
son at,  A.  D.  17U5-0,  202. 

Quin,  his  criticism  on  the  "Suspicii>ns  Hus- 
band," 359;  his  theatrical  life,  394-404; 
successes  and  failures,  396;  his  humor  and 
jests,  397-400 ;  his  generosity,  400  I ;  death, 
402;  his  will,  404;  his  coutesl  against 
Mills.  320;  early  career  of,  32l>-2;  laconic 
correspondence  with  Kith,  360;  plays 
ag.iinst  Garrick,  340,  343-4;  plays  Mac- 
Leutb,  2S7;  receives  £1,000 u year,  305. 

R. 

Rafter,  see  CiiTe. 

liainsford  Street.  Dublin,  theatre  in.  853. 

'■  Ralph  lioister  Doister,"  earliest  Knglish 
comedy,  15. 

Ram-ay,  Allan,  promotes  Scottish  theatri- 
cals. 413. 

Uavenscroft,  151. 

Rawlins,  playwright,  148. 

Rcbellioii  of  1745 — loyalty  of  the  players 
during,  349. 

"Recruiting  Officer,"  Farqnhar's,  203;  the 
event  of  the  Drury  Liine  season,  1705-6 
203. 

"Relapse,"  Vanbrugh's,  acted  in  Paris  as  a 
IMisthumous  comedy  by  Voltaire,  159. 

"  Revenge,"   Young's,  original  cast  of,   24S. 

Revet,  playwright,  \i:i. 

Rhodes,  playwright,  14-?. 

••  Itichanl  II."  atKssex  House.  20. 

Rich,  his  estimation  of  the  worth  of  an  ac- 
tor. 322. 

Rich.  .John,  fails  as  an  actor,  233  ;  under  the 
name  of  Lun  snoreeds  as  Harlequin,  233. 

Robinson,  Will,  sl:dn  by  Harrison,  39. 

Rochester,  Lord,  his  "  Valentini.in,"  131: 
the  instructor  of  Elizabeth  Harry,  105 

Rr>gers,  Mrs.,  will  only  play  virtuous  char- 
acters, 312;  the  first  night  <d'  the  "Re- 
lapse, 99 ;  her  original  parts.  242. 

"  Rosamond,"'  Addison's,  played  in  1707, 205. 

Roscius,  10,  11. 

Rowe,  his  failures,  202.  208,  a  Westminster 
boy,  2C5. 


Royal  audience,  I  TO. 
••  Royal  Slave,"  Cui  twright's,  37. 
Ryan  plays  against  tiarrick.  340,  344. 
RymiT,  his  opinion  of  Shakspeare  and  Mil 
'ton,  14S. 

s. 

Sandford,  actor  of  villains,  101 ;  his  Richard, 
102. 

Santlow,  .Miss,  the  daOcer,  appears  in  the 
resular  drama  »s  the  Eunuch,  in  "  VaK-n- 
tinian,"  and  Dorcas  Zeal,  in  the  "hair 
Quakeress,  213:  described  by  Booth  in 
poetry,  272.  275;  her  career,  273;  mar- 
ri.iiie  of  her  daughter,  273;  her  Dorcaa 
Zeal.  273. 

Saunders,  boy-poet,  144. 

Saunders,  .Mrs.,  the  actress,  248. 

Sauuderson,  Mrs.,  79,  si. 

Savage,  actor  and  author,  his  "Love  in  a 
Veil,"  2;35;  and  .Mrs.  OldtVld,  293;  his 
•■  Sir  Thomas  Overbury,"  2.52-3. 

Scott,  playwright,  144. 

Seudainore,  Jacobite  actor,  97;  his  mar- 
riage, 97;  (actor  and  .lacobite  agent),  97; 
looked  after  by  Lord  Manchester,  97. 

Sedley,  Sir  Charles,  life  and  works,  140-42; 
ftt  the  play,  173. 

Settle,  147. 

Seven  Years'  Rivalry,  1S8. 

Sev>ell,  Dr.,  poet  and  physician,  242. 

Seymour,  .Mrs.,  marries  Boheme,  253;  cre- 
ates .Mariaiiine,  2.'>4. 

Shall  well  attacks  Dryden,  157;  MacFlecnoe, 
157;  succeeds  Dryden  as  Laureate,  1.57; 
eulogized  by  Rochester,  153;  burial,  \iM; 
his  opivion  of  Sedley,  140. 

Shakspeare,  197;  and  )iosture-master.s,  213; 
— tinkers,  151.  243.  24(5,  255,345;  an  actor. 
27.  49;  portrait,  39;  descent  of  portrait, 
froiii  Davenant  to  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham and  Cbanilos,  lOS. 

Shakspeare.  t'harles,  49. 

Shatterel,  38. 

Sheridan,  actor,  his  first  api>earancc,  8.%4; 
on  the  old  dramatists,  155;  plays  against 
G.irrick  and  Mossop,  407;  plays  against 
Garrick.  343. 

Shipman.  (Irainatic  author,  143. 

Shirley.  147. 

SliiiU-y.  W.,  his  Edward,  the  Black  i'rinct, 
SM;  treatment  of  his  "  Parricide,'"  363. 

Shrewsbury.  Duke  of,  222^  3. 

Shuter,  his  first  a|)pearaiice.  349. 

Slini:sby.  Laily,  actress,  103. 

Smith,  Edmund,  his  merits,  failures,  and 
aliases.  206-7. 

Smith,  the  Tory  actor,  l(»2-3;  original  of 
Pierre,  Sir  Fopling  Flutter,  Chamont,  &c., 
— <iies  of  over-ai>plieaiion,  102;  his  fmcas 
with  a  gentleman  behin<l  the  scenes,  lO^J. 

Smock  Alley  Theatre,  Dublin,  351 ;  desti-uc- 
tion  of.  351  ;  new  theatre  in,  352'  ojjposed 
by  Rainsford  Street  theatre,  353. 

Smyth.  Moore,  2.58;  assailed  by  Pope,  259. 

Solon,  hostile  to  the  stage,  10. 

Southerne.  S5;  the  man  and  the  poet,  Id; 
anticipates  a  maxim  of  Burns,  101 ;  hi« 
"  Money's  the  Mistress"  condemned,  25S, 

South,  oD  the  Stage,  185. 


42i 


INDEX. 


" Spanish  Friar,"  how  csteoiiied  by  Churls s 
11.,  156. 

Pl>illor,  actor  <)f  young  men,  2;34;  death  of, 
287. 

Squires  at  the  phiyhouse.  181. 

Stige,  condition  of  at  the  close  of  the  17th 
citntury,  125;  ut  the  heginiiiiii;  of  the  ISth 
century,  188;  old  Swttfsli,  410-15. 

Staniiin;;.  Sir  Andrew,  Icilled  on  his  way 
from  the  pla3'-hou8e,  125. 

Stapyltoii,  Sir  Kobert,  dramatic  author,  135; 
a  Uou.ay  student  converted  to  protesUmt- 
isiii,  135. 

Statute  of  1572,  asainst  "rogues  and  vagra- 
bonds."  22  ;  of  1W7,  suppressing  the  l)lay- 
ers.  37. 

Steele,  Sir  Uichard,  a  private  gentleman  in 
the  Horse  Guards.  190;  his  "Funeral," 
191 :  knighted,  227;  included  in  the  Drury 
Lane  Patent,  227;  his  quarrels  with  the 
Government,  244-5;  death  of,  262;  on 
C' induct  of  audiences,  809-70;  in  Burton's 
box,  3S9. 

Still,  IJlshop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  his  comedy 
of ''(lainmer  Gurton's  Needle,"  19. 

Stirling,  Uev.  Mr.,  dramatist,  324,  35.3. 

Strolling  Companies,  88. 

Strollers  in  monasteries,  12. 

Sturniy,  dramatist,  250. 

"Suspicious  Husband,"  Hoadley's,  359. 

Sutton,  preaches  at  St.  Mary  Overy's  against 
plays,  25. 

Swanston,  i)layer  serving  in  the  parliamen- 
tary army,  39. 

Svnicott.  Margaret,  alleged  real  name  of  Nell 
'Gwyn,  66. 

T. 

Talma,  in  Manlius  (misprinted  "  .\uguste"), 
108,412. 

"Tanered  and  Sigismunda,"  original  east  of, 
S4(i. 

Tate,  Nahum,  151. 

Tavf.rner,  playwright,  223,  234. 

Templars  at  the  plav,  3S4. 

"Tender  Husband."" Steele's,  201. 

Tennlson  preaches  funeral  sermon  of  Nell 
Gwyn,  65. 

Theatre,  the  Shorediteh,  29. 

Theobald,  dramatic  author,  211:  steals  a 
play,  232;  his  "Double  Falsehood,"  the 
last  piece  in  which  Booth  apiieared,  2G1 ; 
his  adaptation  of  Webster's  "Duchess  of 
.Malfy,"  307. 

Thomson,  his  first  play,  "  Sophonisb.a,"  con- 
irastiil  with  Lee's,  285;  his  "  Edward  and 
Leonora"  prohibited,  328;  cast  of  his 
"Coriolanus,  362:  his  conduct  on  the  first 
niirht  of  his  "  .'Vgamemnon,"  389;  his 
'■  Tancred  and  Sigismunda,"  34G. 

"'I'hree  Hours  after  Marriage,"  i:i'o. 

Tickell.  Thomas,  205. 

Tillotson.  his  intimacy  with  Betterton.  89: 
studied  by  Dryden,  157 ;  his  preaching 
improved  bv  Betterton,  157. 

Tofts,  .Mrs..  202,  206. 

TothlU  Street,  old  inhabitants  of,  85;  West- 
minst'ir,  inhabitants  of,  s4. 

TownshciKl,  L»dy,  description  of  a  player. 


Trapp,  Dr..  pliywright,  199. 

Tredenham,  a  conspirator  and  playwright 

without  a  plot,  164. 
Tuke,  Sir  Sainuel,  dramatic  author,  134. 

u. 

Udall,  Uev.  Nichol.is,  his  "Ralph  Roister 
Doister,"  15. 

Underbill,  Cave,  97;  his  merits  and  charac- 
teristics, 98. 

Unrehearsed  stage  elTects,  69,  77,  86.  93,  100, 
lUU,  144,  238,  266,  268,  394,  399,  408. 

V. 

Vanbrugh,  on  the  stage  in  1699,  186;  — ,  his 
various  vocations,"  158 ;  his  "  Relapse" 
passed  off  at  Paris  as  a  posthumous  come- 
dy by  Voltaire,  159. 

Vandervelt.  Mrs.,  an  aged  actress,  247. 

V'aughan,  Mr.,  lights  Charles  Dering  on  the 
stage,  179. 

"  Venice  Preserved,"  burlesque  on,  228. 

Victim  of  Titus  Oates,  101. 

Verbruggen,  119;  his  original  characters, 
120;  marries  Mountfort's  widow,  120. 

"  Virginia,"  Crisp's,  406. 

Voltaire,  on  "Merope,"  and  the  English 
st;ige,  302. 

w. 

Walker,  cast  for  Macheath,  on  Quln  decUn- 
iug  the  character,  263. 

Walker  of  Eton  C(dlege,  player  and  poet  199. 

Walpole,  on  Garrick,  357  ;  Sir  Robert,  at  tho 
"  Beggars'  Opera,"  263. 

Watson,  Sir  Frederick.  87. 

Welsted.  dranuitist,  259;  his  wives,  260. 

West.  Richard,  his  "  Hecuba"  opposed,  257. 

Whitaker,  author,  144. 

Whitefriars  Theatre,  28. 

Whitehall,  buffoonery  at,  44. 

Whitehead,  his  "Crcusa,"  406;  his  "Roman 
Father,"  303. 

Wilksj.lays  Othello  in  Dublin,  352;  sketch 
of  his  life,  308-18;  hero  of  Farquhar's 
comedies,  .315;  his  nephew,  an  actor,  316. 

Will,  Booth's  curious,  2b3. 

Williams,  Bishop  of  Linc(dn,  private  theat- 
ricals at  house  of.  27. 

Wilson,  dramatic  author,  144 

Wiseman,  Mrs.,  pl.-iy  wright  and  vintner,  193w 

Wither.  George,  174. 

Woniiigion,  .Mrs.,  first  a[)pearance,  881. 

"  Wonder,"  the,  Mrs.  Cenllivre's,  225. 

Woodward  and  Uobadil,  868. 

Worsdale.  ju'tor  and  artist,  367. 

Wycherley,  152-3,  154. 

Y. 

Yates,  Mrs.,  406. 

Young,  chief  of  the  dramatic  poets  who  aj*- 

|)eared  in  the  reign  of  George  L,  261. 
Young,  Dr.,  accotmt  of,  241. 
Younger,  Miss,  first  appearance,  a.  d   1706, 

204. 


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